


Of Blood and Bards

by idjit_666



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A mix of the witcher TV show and the video games, Alive Aiden (The Witcher), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Freeform, I'll see how the story ends up, Just kind of disgruntled exfriends to friends to lovers, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Slow Burn, So much angst, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, but not really enemies, extra extra slow burn, idiots to lovers, idk - Freeform, maybe Geralt/Jaskier in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idjit_666/pseuds/idjit_666
Summary: Witcher!Jaskier Au. I just had to hop on this train, I love this AU.For years Julian Alfred Pankratz or known as Julian of Rediana the Witcher or Jaskier the bard has wandered the continent. But after the disastrous morning atop of the mountain, Jaskier realizes that the world wasn't safe for a bard like Jaskier. So Julian reverts to his natural state and beings to go back to the path, determined never to see the man who broke his heart.But Destiny had something else in mind. And Destiny loves to create turmoil.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 45
Kudos: 189





	1. Chapter 1

Destiny could suck Jaskier’s dick. At least he’d finally something good from it. His life was fucked before he was even born. 

Julian Alfred Pankratz was born into the world where he was expected to be perfect. He was the future viscount de Lettenhove. And when he didn’t fulfill those expectations, well his parents didn’t have any problems making sure he learnt the lesson by any means necessary. 

He was a restless child. He didn’t want to sit in dusty old rooms listening to the flat baritone of his tutors, he wanted to explore the alluring yellow fields and silvery forests. Learning was far better suited with hands-on experience. 

His father didn’t agree and the marks on Julian sure as shit showed it. 

He was seven when his brother was born. 

He was nine when the witcher came. 

There was a leshen that moved into the woods near their estate. It disrupted the beehives and killed the lumbermen sent into the woods. 

Julian’s father was a stringent man. He didn’t like to part with his money unless he needed to and apparently the leshen wasn’t good enough. 

To get around paying the witcher, which Julian later learnt was named was Lexandre, Julian’s father asked him what he wanted in lieu of payment. Julian was the payment. And his father, or his mother, didn’t bat an eye.

Julian cried, twisting in the arms of the witcher, trying to get to his mother. Her pale face, usually rosy in the cheeks was void of any emotions. She watched as Julian disappears into the landscape with his little brother in her arms. 

She just stared. 

She ignored his cries, his tears, her son. 

***

Jaskier ran. As fast as his feet could take. He was numb. His breath was in panic gasps. He couldn’t breathe. He stumbled over rocks and twigs, branches wiping around him. The sharp slapping of the mountain wind numbing him. 

_Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shovelling it? If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands._

Geralt’s words rang in his ears. Surely he didn’t mean it? They were friends, right? 

Jaskier cursed as his boot hit a rock and sent him flying. 

Pain flared up from his shoulder, the one he landed upon, and spiralled out.

Jaskier choked back a scream and clutched his shoulder. He bit his lip and curled into a fetal position.

He held back curses as the contents of the forest floor stabbed into his back through the soft silk of his doublet. Jaskier rolled onto his back and slapped his hands onto his face and groaned. 

What was he doing?

Jaskier sighed, his hands dropping from his face and stared up at the brilliantly blue sky above him.

What _was_ he doing?

Getting his heart crushed by a man who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Jaskier. No. Giving a rat’s ass meant that Geralt actually thought about him. Ever since that day with Djin, Jasper sense that Geralt was moving on. Jaskier didn’t need any witcher senses to tell that.

The night they left the ruined estate Jaskier could see the wistful glances, like a young milk-maid in love, into the distance that Geralt tried to hide from Jaskier. But Jaskier saw it and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

It’s not like Jaskier liked Geralt. 

It’s just Jaskier was lonely. 

The Path was hard and it was lonely.

Jaskier just thought that he could lessen the ache deep in his chest. The soul-crushing loneliness. Geralt knew this pain and deep down Jaskier thought that maybe the two of them together travelling would alleviate it.

It did. For a bit. 

Then Yennefer came.

Her lilac eyes and gooseberry perfume almost bewitched Jaskier. Then she went all crazy-magic lady on him completely tits out. Jaskier could appreciate it if it wasn’t him that she went crazy on.

Jaskier wanted to hate her. It would make his life so much easier. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He blamed destiny.

It was almost _poetic_. The sorceress and the witcher. Two destined to be alone, finding each other and finding solace in each other's trauma. The songs were almost writing themselves and knowing Jaskier’s shit luck he’d be the one writing them.

Jaskier stood, unsure that his legs would support him.

He let out a sigh of relief and looked around, attempting to assess his situation.

It looked grim really.

He’s let himself go, travelling with Geralt. The witcher’s assumption that Jaskier was nothing more than just a bumbling bard. Geralt was a lot of things, socially aware was not one of them. Jaskier just let Geralt think what he wanted to think.

When travelling with Geralt, Jaskier just let Geralt do all of the hard work including all of the navigation; enjoying the chores such as filling the waterskins and picking berries. If Jaskier’s old mentor Dusan saw him now, Jaskier would be flogged.

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He had a vague idea of where he was.

His blood ran cold when he heard the distant howls of a wolf.

Great.

Here was Jaskier, alone in the middle of the woods about to be mauled by a wolf. The symbol of the man who hated him. How ironic.

Jaskier patted his torso, looking for the dagger that he stashed inside his doublet. 

It was small, nothing like his witcher swords but it was usually enough to help him get out of a sticky situation. Though, the situations that Jaskier had to use the dagger was against husbands and fathers that he couldn’t get away in time.

Not against wolves. 

As Jaskier pulled out the dagger, he heard a distant howl. 

Jaskier stumbled backwards, heading towards some cover, hoping that the wolves won’t notice him and pass on, but a cacophony of howls echo through the trees in response to the first one.

The howls seemed to be behind him, deafening his eardrums.

They were close. 

Jaskier froze in position, his skin prickled with fear and his breath started coming out in short, sharp huffs. His heart is beating so loud that he fears that the wolves can hear it.

Leaves crunch behind him and he turns around slowly, fearing what he will see. A pair of glowing eyes meet his own as a wolf steps out from behind the bushes.

Fuck.

He hears the sounds of more wolves approaching them, their maws slacked open, they are coming out in slow ragged pants. 

Jaskier’s blood ran cold. He was surrounded. 

Blood red glowing eyes encircled him, approaching slowly, as if cautiously. The soft forest floor crunched over their paws. 

A searing pain shot down his back and Jaskier screams. A wolf has lunged at him from behind, its claws digging into his back. At the scent of blood, the rest of the wolves pounce on him, deadly claws raking into him and sharp teeth tearing at his flesh.

Jaskier grabbed onto the scruff of the wolf on his back and lurched forward, throwing the wolf forward, his dagger slashing across the underbelly of his attacker.

The wolf yipped in pain and staggered to its feet.

Jaskier stumbled back, trying to distance himself from the ever-growing angry pack of wolves.

He knew that he is not going to be able to take on the whole pack. Sure if he was wearing a full set of armour and had his swords but right now he is currently sporting a silk doublet and matching pants and was armed only with a dagger.

He readied his dagger, watching the faint shadowy figures encircling him. His eyes flicker around the circle, looking for the wolf that he injured. That wolf is his way out.

***

Jaskier stumbled into the town at the bottom of the mountain. He could feel the hot blood running down his back, slowly trickling down and in almost tickled him. 

He all but collapsed against a trunk of an old cypress tree. The dagger slipped from his slicked hands and clattered to the forest floor.

By the gods, it hurt. He hasn’t felt this bad in ages. Laboured breathing wracked his chest as Jaskier struggled to calm his heart. 

His breathing was wet and congested. Jaskier bent over, blood dripping from his stained red lips. 

There was a distant howl.

This time it was not the predatory howl of a hunt but more of pitiful whine. 

He hadn’t gotten all of them, he’d gotten sloppy, but he’d gotten enough to cripple the pack.

Jaskier couldn’t stop the smirk from curling out when he heard the howl. God, he’d forgotten how good the adrenaline flooding his veins tasted.

He felt powerful.

Why did Jaskier give this power up?

He could be on top of the world right now, injuries be damned.

Melitele’s tits, he could get drunk off of this. He had been so stupid to leave the Path behind. Jaskier giggled to himself, pushing himself off of the trunk and stumbled over to the slow gurgling river.

Jaskier just seemed to sink into the rocky shore, his hands slammed into the small wet rocks. The water trickled over Jaskier’s blood-stained hands. 

His reflection warped in the glassy surface of the river but he could see the stains sprawling across his face.

The water was finger freezing numb as he scooped up the water. Jaskier scrubbed the icy waters against his face. The water ran red, slipping through his fingers as it tumbled back into the riverbed.

The ice of the water stung the open flesh on Jaskier’s face. He held back a wince, witchers didn’t feel minor pain like this. 

Jaskier scrubbed his face until it felt raw. The water was now stained pink. 

He rocked on his toes, his knees slamming into the muddy riverbank. Sniffling slightly, Jaskier wiped away the excess water clinging onto his face. 

Now that Jaskier was away and safe, he could feel the ache deep in his bones. Exhaustion crept into his body, slowly consuming his entire being.

Running a hand through his hair, Jaskier stood up. His knees were cold from the mud.

The sky above Jaskier was a worrying grey. Silver droplets pattered against his soft brown hair and freezing against his pale skin.

***

The day had started nice. Clear and bright with not a cloud in the sky, a dazzling pale blue, the perfect setting for a dragon hunt adventure. Now, it seemed like the weather was in tune with Jaskier’s emotions. Grey and rainy.

The weathered cypresses around Jaskier shielded him from most of the rain, the cold hitting Jaskier where it seemed to hurt the most. The water rolling down his back shredded the remnants of Jaskier’s sanity. He could feel the well of the tears pushing around the edges of his eyes, his breath started coming out in short panicked breaths in a desperate attempt to stop himself from crying.

Jaskier could feel the anger tugging at him, trying to urge him to fall into the void of anger, just letting the anger consume him.

He tried to hold on so long. To hold back his emotions. It took so much energy to stop himself from lashing out. Keeping his signature mellow, cheerful attitude on.

He was Jaskier. The bard was known for his smile.

No wanted to see him angry or upset. They didn’t want to be reminded about how shitty their lives were. They wanted to be entertained, they wanted to forget about how their harvest was smaller this year or their spouse was sleeping around, or how their business was failing.

Jaskier’s purpose was to make them forget about all of that for that little time he had them for.

Hot painful tears mingled with the iciness of rain. Strangled gasps wracked Jaskier’s body.

Fuck Geralt.

Fucking shit.

Jaskier scrubbed at the corners of his eyes, the material scratching at him.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he came across the clearing where they left their horses. The horses were happily munching away at the wisps of grass growing in the sparse rocky landscape. It was almost serene. 

Jaskier hurried over to his and Geralt’s horses. Roach lazily flickered her eyes up at Jaskier as scurried over to them. He could see the faint disinterest in her eyes. 

With his heart hanging in heavily in his chest, Jaskier approached her. He loved Roach. Unlike her owner, she showed him, love. She always gently nipped at him when she approached, jutting her head towards his chin when she wanted attention. 

“Hey, girl.” Jaskier patted her side and stumbled over to Geralt’s saddlebags. With shaky hands, he tore through the saddlebags looking for a vial of swallow. 

Once Jaskier started travelling with Geralt, he’d become lax with his general witcher training, especially concerning potions. He had little need for them as a disguised human, and when he needed them, he’d nick them from Geralt. 

The man was fairly oblivious whenever concerning Jaskier. 

Whenever he used one of Geralt’s potions, which was far and few in-between, he’d always replace them with better quality potions. Jaskier didn’t know what they taught in the school of the wolf, but it wasn’t quality potion-making. 

Jaskier hated drinking Geralt’s potions. Potions were already hard to down but Geralt’s was just rough. 

Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

He uncorked the potion and before he had a chance to smell the potion, he downed it. Jaskier grimaced as the potion sluggishly trickled down his throat. It burned like a shot of vodka but more bitter. 

Suppressing the urge to hurl, Jaskier corked the vial and shoved it back to the saddlebag. The taste lingered in his mouth. Jaskier’s mouth twisted into a grimace, trying to wash out the taste. 

He felt the liquid slowly burn down his throat. 

If Jaskier was ever going to run into Geralt again, Jaskier was going to give him a proper fucking lesson on potion-making. 

He winced when he felt the flesh on his back 

Roach snorted and shoved her nose towards his pockets, looking for treats. He sighed, continuing to pat her nose and shook his head. “Sorry princess, no treats today. Or ever again.” That made his heartache even more. 

He’s travelled with Geralt for twenty years and Jaskier has never seen him treat Roach. Geralt preferred her company to most, but Geralt was a scrimp. He hated spending money unless he had to; wearing armour until it was thin and worn to the point where it wasn’t even armour even more. 

Jaskier spent lavishly on them and Roach because Jaskier saw Geralt smile slightly when Jaskier sneaked Roach treats. Jaskier didn’t care, he wanted Geralt to feel better. No amount would have ever stopped him. 

Roach’s little huff prompted Jaskier to start shoving random trinkets of his that he had stored in Geralt’s bags after he ran out of space in his into his own bags. 

When Jaskier quickly ran out of space, which was rather quick hence the storing of his junk in Geralt’s bags, he looked at the crumpled doublet in his hands. 

Fuck it. 

Jaskier tossed his doublet onto the ground, tossing some of the other unnecessary cloths along with it. He’d keep the jewels; they’d be helpful in a pinch. 

The panicked rush instilled in him came to a screeching halt when Jaskier looked at the glowing vial in his hands. 

Was he going to take them? 

It’d tip off Geralt that something was off with Jaskier. 

But did Jaskier care? 

After Jaskier was only supposed to be temporary. 

Julian was who he truly was. 

The glow of the potion captivated him, the tug to become who he was once again. It was like a drug. Jaskier in a way had to ween himself off the adrenaline of jumping head into the heat of a battle.

It’ll come in handy at some point.

Jaskier grabbed a handful of vials and shoved them into his bags. If only Geralt had an extra sword handing around. Jaskier eyes the saddlebags wistfully. 

Maybe he’d sell a ring or two the next town over. The world was getting rough. Jaskier was going to need protection, he no longer had Geralt to protect him. 

Jaskier scratched behind Roach’s ears, his heart still hanging low in his chest. He was never going to see her again. “See ya Roachy. Keep him safe. I know he’s an idiot, but…just look out for him.” Jaskier’s voice was scratchy. 

Roach huffed as she understood him; Jaskier at least hoped she did. 

He took Pegasus’s reins in hand and headed off. The crunching of the stones under his boots echoed in his ears.

***

Dirt caked onto his face and his hair was a mess. In his prime as Jaskier, Jaskier would never let anyone see him like this. As a human, Jaskier did everything that he wanted that he couldn’t do as a witcher. 

Witchers don’t care about frivolous things like silks and skincare or music. 

But fuck destiny. 

Jaskier chose his destiny. He did what he wanted. 

The tavern was, thankfully, nearly deserted when Jaskier stumbled him. He winced when his shoulder was forcefully thrust out. He hadn’t escaped the wolves fully. He was no longer going to have that smooth skin that he so cherished. He didn’t bother stopping and trying to patch up the marks. Even though his healing was slower than his healing as a witcher it’d still heal quicker than most. Jaskier didn’t bother to worry about infection. It’d be fine within a day or two. 

Jaskier wasn’t as vain as everyone thought. Sure, he slapped on as much lotion as possible, pampering himself as much as he could, but he never got the chance as a witcher. One of his first hunts, Jaskier took a contract against a rogue mage. 

Well, Jaskier was a cocky dumbass and didn’t take it seriously. It ended up blowing up in his face. Literally. He had a vein of scars running across his face. As a young man, Jaskier wasn’t concerned with his looks. He was a witcher. He didn’t think of himself as vain but that, that changed him. 

He was a witcher. He knew wasn’t attractive to the wider audience but he still held out hope. He had a youthful face despite everything that happened to him. If one looked at him from a distance, he could pass as human and a decently attractive one. 

He had a few lovers, the few times that they were allowed to go outside of the keep when it still existed, but after that contract, those lovers dwindled. No one really looked past the scars. 

Jaskier stumbled up the barkeep. “A shot of vodka and a pint of Kaedwenian ale.” 

Thankfully, the barkeep didn’t question Jaskier and just handed Jaskier what he wanted and went back to ignoring the people in his tavern. 

Jaskier downed his shot, loving the disgusting aftertaste and the sharp numbness coating him. He collapsed onto a booth and stared into the murky brown ale in front of him. 

He burned. Geralt’s words burn him to the core. They clung to his insides like the vodka he’d just downed. It shredded and tore at all that Jaskier was, all that he’d made himself into. All the effort he’d put into leaving his broken and bloody past behind gone. Undone. It made Jaskier wonder if he’d made the right choice. 

He was a witcher. Trained and mutated to walk the Path. 

He had abandoned everything to make his life anew. 

The first few years tore Jaskier up. His core was divided up. His witcher side yearned to get back on the Path. The guilt bubbled deep within him for abandoning the Path, his brothers, the innocents. The human part of Jaskier, the stubborn remains screamed at him that he was right to leave the Path. 

He never chose to be a witcher. It was forced upon him. 

He was given up by his parents. He was beaten if he refused to train. 

It was funny, ironic really, that it was another witcher who set him on this path. On instinct, Jaskier’s hand traced where the jagged scar would be. The two had met ages ago, he was a witcher from another school. A viper. Like Jaskier, he still felt the ache of losing his humanity. He was young. Much younger than Jaskier and still knew what it was like to feel human emotions. The two of them sat around a campfire sharing a bottle of White Gull, speaking about their former lives. 

The viper was resigned to his fate, seeping into the trademark loneliness and bitterness of the witcher guild. The mutagens were supposed to erase emotions. Or at least dampen them. The witchers of the other schools portray this all too well. Blank, monotone faces. The young viper still felt the traces of his human life, including the emotions. 

The life of a cat was different. Their ancestors had a sick sense of humour. Instead of the mutagens dampening their emotions, it really heightened them. Why? Jaskier had no fucking clue. How the fuck was it suppose to help them on the Path? 

All it did was give cat school witchers the reputation of being mad. 

Well, the reputation was well earned to a degree. Jaskier had seen something snap inside some of his brothers after the trials. Well mannered boys created into something twisted. Laughing with some sort of twisted glee when they ended the life of the beasts they were contracted to kill. Jaskier never understood why they laughed with glee. The beasts never did anything to Jaskier to deserve this treatment. He knew that it was a kill or be killed world but these beasts only acted on instinct. He never really wanted to kill them. He just hoped that he could give them a swift, merciful death instead of the slow butchering process that he knew that the villagers would give them. 

The conversation between the viper and Jaskier had broken something inside of him. Years of being on the Path and he just… just couldn’t do it anymore. Hearing the crack in the kid’s voice broke something inside of Jaskier. 

So why did Jaskier follow fucking Geralt of Riva for twenty years? 

Jaskier scowled into his ale. 

He created a life outside of being a witcher to explore the parts of him outside of the Path. And yet he wound back upon it. 

Destiny must be laughing at him.

Jaskier followed Geralt because he saw the same loneliness in his eyes that day Posada. Jaskier could feel the desire for company radiating out of the man. In all honesty, Jaskier pitied the man. Jaskier couldn’t help Julian but he could help Geralt.

Look what that did to him. 

Over the years, Jaskier brushed off Geralt’s huffs and outbursts as him just being emotionally inept. Jaskier knew more than anyone how witchers’ processed emotions. He had let it go, hoping that it’d soften Geralt up, being solace to him when Jaskier wasn’t around. 

That certainly didn’t go the way that Jaskier planned. 

Geralt snarling at him at the top of the mountain. Blaming him for everything that went wrong in his life. Fat load of shit. 

Jaskier sighed heavily, the type of sigh where his whole body shivered at the force of it. 

Maybe Dusan was right. 

Maybe Jaskier was weak. 

Maybe he didn’t deserve to pass the Trial of Grasses. One of the three out of ten. 

He could still see the bright golden hair that always reminded him of wheat fields under the summer sun. A smile that didn’t belong in such a place as Stygga castle. She didn’t make it. The older witchers seemed to blame Jaskier. He had made her weak. 

Jaskier shouldn’t be here. He needed to move. Away from Geralt. Away from this fucking mountain. Where’d he go? 

Back to Oxenfurt? What was Jaskier without his muse? Besides, Jaskier was never meant to be permanent. Just a distraction, to alleviate himself from the heartbreak of the Path. Jaskier really only became permanent accidentally. He couldn’t be Julian of Kerack when travelling with Geralt. Their relationship started with a lie and Jaskier was scared of how Geralt would react if he found out Jaskier was a witcher. One that abandoned the Path. 

Maybe it was time that Julian returned. 

He’s seen how the world has become. 

The door of the tavern creaked open, making Jaskier snap out of his meditative state and stare in the direction of the door. Waltzing in like she owned the place was Yennefer of Vengerberg. She had shed her elaborate grey fur cloak and wore a simple black dress with velvet designs, tight long sleeves and a high neckline. She looked so simple yet so intimidating. 

Shit. 

Jaskier dropped his eyes and brought his pint up to his lips so hopefully, it’d obscure his face and Yennefer wouldn’t notice him. 

He wasn’t in the mood to trade insults with her back and forth. The reality was that Geralt chose Yennefer. He would always choose Yennefer. She was a competent, badass sorceress while all Geralt would see Jaskier as is a stumbling bard that he felt responsible for. 

Yennefer wouldn’t know about getting rejected. Sure the witches at Aratuza did some magical transformation but that was just a vanity thing. Their whole shtick was the more beautiful the woman, the more that the court would trust her. 

Jaskier grimaced at the bitterness of the ale as he chugged it down. 

“Jaskier.” 

Fuck.

Nope. 

“I know it’s you. No-one else in this backwater town wears something that obnoxious. Face me.” 

“Excuse me! This is the perfect outfit for a dragon chase.” Jaskier dropped the tankard onto the table, not caring if he spilt anything. It wasn’t like he was going to get drunk. It was the perfect outfit for the hunt. The crimson scaled design fit perfectly for the aesthetic of the adventure. “Just because you have no palette doesn’t mean the rest of us must.” 

Jaskier tried to put venom into his words but he was just tired. So, so fucking tired. 

He didn’t have it in him. Geralt chose her even if she didn’t choose him.

“Cut the shit Jaskier.” She looked unimpressed with him as she arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him. 

Jaskier bit back a retort. So he just settled on taking a swig of his ale. “What do you want Yennefer?” 

A heavy silence settled over them as Yennefer studied him with her dark eyes. Jaskier felt like he was glued to the spot by her eyes. Even with his dulled senses, he could hear the world around him. The horses tied to the hitches outside of the tavern, huffing and snorting, happily slurping away at the water provided for them. The barkeep wheezing as he shuffled around behind them. The old wooden boards above him creaking as they settled. 

In the distance, Jaskier could hear the sounds of the town, townsmen yelling at each other, merchants advertising their wares; the clang of the local blacksmith. He liked Oxenfurt because of that. Even though he was away from the people of the city, he was still close to them. He was never too far away. 

“You heard what happened?” Yennefer asked, her voice soft. 

“That Geralt’s a moron?” 

Jaskier heard everything. How Geralt’s last wish was to bind them together forever. When the wish directed to Jaskier was to shut him up. 

That seemed to amuse Yennefer as the corners of her lips quirked up in amusement. “Yes. That. Messy business djinns.” She examined her flawless nails. 

“Didn’t stop you,” Jaskier mumbled into his mug. 

The look that she sent him was scathing. He would have once been a little terrified at the look but he no longer cared. 

He had nothing left as Jaskier. Sure he could go back to Oxenfurt but Jaskier or Julian wasn’t meant to stay in one place. He was meant to wander the world. It felt like Jaskier had fewer people than Julian. The only person that Jaskier had long-term was Geralt. All Jaskier cared about was flings. He couldn’t afford to settle down permanently. 

Jaskier was a distraction. 

Yennefer sighed and tossed back her curls. “I heard what he said to you.” 

“So?” Jaskier snapped. Why did she care? 

“As you said ‘Geralt’s a moron’.” Yennefer sent a ghost of a smile to him. It dropped a second later. She sighed and looked around the empty tavern. “You know, all I ever wanted to be was to matter to someone. Geralt was lucky. He had you. Some would say that you’re like an over eager-puppy, following him around.” 

“You’ve said that,” Jaskier muttered. 

She shot him a glare. He felt a great sense of satisfaction when she let out a huff. “I’m trying to compliment you.” 

“Why? It’s not like it mattered before Yennefer. It doesn’t matter now, even after Geralt fucked both of us over. We don’t like each other and likely won’t ever.”

“We don’t have to be friends _bard._ ” Jaskier didn’t like how Yennefer emphasized the word bard. He flicked his eyes over to her and the door. 

He didn’t like his chances. He’d have to expose his back to her to get out. She’d be able to cast before he reached the doors. 

“Allies don’t have to be friends. Just mutually beneficial.” 

“And what could a simple bard do for a great sorceress such as yourself?” Jaskier had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Drop the faux-humbleness Jaskier. It doesn’t look good on you.” Yennefer rolled her eyes. “We both know you’re more than a bard.” 

H-how? 

The mage that made the glamour for Jaskier assured him that no one would be able to see through it. It didn’t just mask his physical features but his biological features. The glamour was strong enough to fool even another witcher, tied to his own chaos so that it would not break until he wished it so, at least in theory according to the mage. 

So far it’s held up so Jaskier had no sense to doubt it. 

The glamour constantly drained his energy, dulling his senses to the point that they were almost the same as humans. 

The glamour used so much of his chaos which made him constantly sleepy. Especially when first adjusting his body. The glamour kept some of his old strength and agility so that he did not tire so easily. 

“Who do you think healed you? At this point, I’m the one who’s the most intimate with you.” 

Great. 

Under the table, Jaskier’s hand curled into a fist. What did Yennefer want from him? If that information got out, then Jaskier was ruined. He’d be forced to go back as Julian. Even then, the rumours might affect how Julian got contracts. Or how other witchers would interact with him. They’d learn that he abandoned the Path. 

“What do you want? I can give you gold. I-I don’t have much else. Or much gold.” Most of his earnings went to maintaining a small apartment in Oxenfurt or it went to his and Geralt’s trips. Jaskier had been determined to teach Geralt that he didn’t have to live like a feral woodsman. 

Yennefer shook her head. “Your secret is safe with me Jaskier. I have no need to leak your secret. Though, I am interested as to why a witcher is hiding out as bard.” There was a gleam in her eyes as she rested her chin on her perched hands. 

Jaskier slumped in his seat and crossed his arms. He didn’t look at Yennefer, he couldn’t. He shrugged and further slumped in his seat. 

“You know that the cat school was one of the few schools that accepted girls? ‘Course it was the cats. Only ones crazy enough to try.” The words almost flew out of his mouth. He’s never told anyone this story. He’s kept inside of himself for decades. He needed to tell someone if the pressure on his chest was any indication. 

Yennefer’s eyebrow arched in interest. 

Jaskier scoffed. “Bet that you might say that is a movement for equality.” He attempted to joke, trying to alleviate the dull aching pain that had lingered on him for years. 

“There’s no equality in abuse.” Yennefer’s voice was soft. 

Jaskier bit the side of his cheek, holding back the tears. He blinked them back and wrinkled his nose, sniffling a little. “Yeah. Well. Her name was Illona Tasse of Soddon. She had hair that reminded me of gold. She was the only one who had any sort of kindness in that hell. Always made sure that I was okay.” The words rushed out of him like they were trying to escape him.

“She didn’t make it.” 

“Yeah.” 

There was a heavy silence between the two of them. Jaskier felt disappointed. He’d hoped that if he told her then the pressure would lessen. It didn’t. 

He now instantly regretted telling Yennefer. It was no longer a secret. Why had he told his nemesis? Was she really his nemesis? He only hated her because of the attention Geralt gave her. The attention that Jaskier wanted. 

He had been desperate for any sort of attention from the man. The sort of attention that Geralt seemed to the only reserve for Yennefer.

Jaskier idly wondered if Aiden remembered Illona. They were in the same class. It was hard to forget her. She tried to bind all of the students together, trying to create some sort of bond between them. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. They came out in heavy rasps, he could almost feel the breath rattling up around against his ribs. Jaskier ran a hand through his hair and tossed his hair out of his face. 

“She told me once that she wanted to live with no regrets. Do whatever she wanted. After a contract went bad and I didn’t nearly didn’t make it.” 

“Obviously you did.” 

“Thanks to a baby viper. We got to talking and something just snapped. I never wanted this life. I wanted to live how I wanted to. So I left. Haven’t regretted it.” 

There was a sparkle of what seemed to be admiration in Yennefer’s eyes. “Never thought you, of all people, had the balls.” 

“Thanks, Yennefer.” Jaskier rolled his eyes. He took in a deep breath and the pain in his ribs felt similar to the time he had his ribs crushed by a griffin, slowly ebb away. 

Yennefer’s lips pressed into a smile. It slowly siphoned away as she looked out over the tavern again. “So. What now?” 

“No idea. You?” 

“Things here and there.” Yennefer sighed. “You feel it, don’t you?” There was something in her eyes that made Jaskier’s stomach plummet. Fear? Anxiety? Either way, he didn’t like it. 

“Yeah.” Jaskier’s throat was scratchy and dry. He had felt it. He didn’t know if Geralt had noticed it as well as the man didn’t have more than one facial expression but he had felt it. 

War was coming.

It was almost like he could taste it like it was in the air. The tension was tight, especially along the border regions. Jaskier tried to stick north and Geralt didn’t seem to mind. 

“I’ll have to start preparing.” Yennefer sighed and shook her head, her dark curls tossed around in front of her. “I don’t know. It’s too uncertain.”

Jaskier hummed in agreement. 

“War’s too harsh for a bard. Hmm?” Yennefer looked at him expectantly. Jaskier knew that it was. He just didn’t want to give up Jaskier. He liked him too much. 

He didn’t want to go back to being Julian.

“Whatever you chose to do if you ever need to reach me…” Yennefer placed down a round looking box on the table in front of him. 

“What’s this?” Jaskier hesitantly picked it up and examined it. It didn’t look like anything special but he could sense the chaos radiating off if it even without his medallion. 

“A Xenovox. It’s a communication device. It will alert me if you need aid. Do not abuse it.” Icy fear ran down Jaskier’s spine at the rear site of Yennefer’s glare. 

“Yes ma’am,” Jaskier muttered. 

He finished off his ale and stood up. Yennefer seemed to enjoy pissing off Jaskier by trailing after him as he went up to pay. She elegantly trailed after him, resting on the periphery of Jaskier’s vision. Jaskier bit back his annoyance and pushed open the door to the tavern.The sun was starting to set, the evening was upon them. Rays of sun flickered against his pale skin. 

Jaskier looked over to Yennefer and realized with a start that her glamour started to fade. Yennefer was a good actress, years of being a court mage probably, but it started to crumble. Exhaustion started to keep in her eyes. 

“I’ll see you later then eh?” Jaskier asked. 

“If I can’t help it,” Yennefer answered dryly. Jaskier could see a hint of mirth in her eyes. The knot in Jaskier’s stomach lessened slightly.

“Take care, Yen.”

Yennefer sniffled in annoyance. “I should be the one saying that to you.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes and grabbed Pegasus’s reins. He followed Yennefer to the split of the road. He waved goodbye, Yennefer gave him a curt nod. Jaskier watched as a glowing blue portal woosh into existence. 

Yennefer paused for a second, looking like she wanted to say something but at the last second decided against it. She turned away from Jaskier and vanished into the portal. 

The portal closed with a small pop and disappeared from view.

Jaskier tiredly shook his head and pulled himself up onto Pegasus’s saddle, gently digging his heels into Pegasus’s side to get her going. 

Ah, where to go?

He let Pegasus take control, gently prodding alone the slowly dwindling street. 

This was a new chapter in the life of Julian. 

The end of the story of Jaskier.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW//Death, Gore, blood,  
> Please read at your own discretion.

Julian wasn’t far from the mountains. He had set off too late to get far enough away from the mountains; to avoid accidentally running into Geralt, Julian had set up camp deep in the woods, settling down into a small meadow. 

Pegasus didn’t seem to mind their makeshift campsite. She was happily munching away on the long grass around her. 

Watching the sunset, the glow of warm colours washed over Julian, melted away the tension rooted deep in his bones. 

He leaned against the log that Julian dragged over to his small, flickering fire and stared at the ring perched on his left hand. He sighed and twisted the ring. It wasn’t as flashy as some of his other rings. It had a large rounded turquoise stone set in a thick band of silver. Intricate carvings ran up and down the band of the ring. A swirling rune that Julian was once told that a part of a spell. It wasn’t a rune that he recognized. On the ridge of the band were small slashes creating a ridge. 

It was a work of art that not many admired. 

Jaskier was known for his fabulous and over the top fashion, gold rings with huge gems and elaborate designers. This wasn’t the sort of ring that Jaskier would wear. 

Should he take it off? 

Jaskier wasn’t needed anymore. His popularity was slipping through his fingers; the only reason why he’s still known was his song ‘Toss a Coin to your Witcher’. 

It made sense that the only song that he was really known for was the song that he poured his anger and desperations into. Sure the subject of the song was supposed to be Geralt but the pain in those words, the begging the people to not murder Julian or his brothers when he walked into town, to treat them with respect, the basics. 

Yennefer was right. 

This wasn’t the time for Jaskier. The time for a soft-faced poet was gone. 

There was the question of, should he wait until he had his gear once again? 

It would raise some eyebrows seeing a witcher riding around in silks; or without a sword. 

“What do you think Pegasus? Hm? I should I break the barriers and be a witcher dressed in silk?” Julian chortled softly. It sounded more ridiculous when he said it out loud. 

Pegasus snorted, tossing her head back and shuffled her feet. 

Julian narrowed his eyes. There was something off. Pegasus whined nervously and shuffled in her spot. 

He froze in a mid-crouch, listening to the whispers of the forest. 

Had Geralt found him? 

No. 

Pegasus was familiar with his sent. She wouldn’t freeze in fear. 

They were the prey. Prey for whom? 

The woods were silent, well silent to Julian’s human ears. 

If any time was the right time to take off the ring, it was now. He was being stalked. Julian was not going to let himself become the prey. 

The ring, being on his ring finger for so long, refused to budge. Julian let out a mild curse under his breath; twisting at the ring, ignoring the flare of pain from his hand. The ring came off with a painful yank. 

It felt like Julian had just burst through the surface of a murky lake. The world exploded into sound and light. He could feel the silk brush against his skin, the rustling of deers deep within the woods. 

The world didn’t seem quite as dark anymore. 

Julian could feel the blood pumping into his veins; his hands itching to wrap around the soft leather handle of his blade as he slipped his ring into one of his pockets. 

He then heard them. 

The stumbling, breaking of the undergrowth of the forest. The forced hushes and uneven footsteps. 

Bandits. 

Trying to pry on the innocent bard wandering into the woods. 

Julian’s mouth curled into a smirk. They had another thing coming. 

Silently, he pulled out his dagger and slipped into the shadows. 

The men, six of them, were clumsily wandering their way over to where Julian had lit his campfire. 

The weight of his dagger had started to feel like home once again. 

Julian filtered between the slim trees, avoiding stepping on the rough terrain, bushes roughly rustling against his thighs as he slipped between shadows. The lights of the pale torches glow brighter. Jaskier crouched behind a thick oak tree, waiting for them to inch closer. 

He flipped his dagger over, testing the weight in his hand. It wasn’t meant to be a throwing knife, just a simple dagger, but it seemed balanced enough for a short throw. He had one throw and still had the element of surprise, so Jaskier had to make it count. 

So he waited. 

Crouched in his spot, his heart quietly thumping away in his ears, Jaskier waited. 

Just until they had passed him. He heard them chuckle and chortling, scheming about what Jaskier might have on him and what they might be able to get with their loot. 

In the dim light of their sole torch, Jaskier could finally asses his targets. 

Few had armour, even those who did only had light armour, leather jerkins and stuff. A well-aimed slash or thrust would end them. 

Their swords didn’t look superior amazing in quality but they’d be an upgrade from Jaskier’s sole dagger. 

Jaskier raised his dagger and aimed at the fellow straggling at the back. He seemed hesitant. Perhaps a little green behind the ears. Perfect. Always take out the weak links first. 

The blade sliced through the air, whistling as it moved. 

Julian thought that he’d feel something when he heard the man go down, gurgling slightly as blood poured out of him. 

But he felt nothing. 

It didn’t phase him one bit. 

His target crumpled to the ground, his fate still unknown to his companions. 

Jaskier slipped out of the woods, darting towards the body, yanked the blade out of his victim and tumbled back into the woods, with only a mere rustle of reentry. 

The wolves may have been taught to use raw power but the cats taught stealth. To stalk their prey until they betray their weakness. 

Jaskier crept alongside the bandits, still unaware of their fallen companion. 

His next target, a slightly bulky man, who seemed to be of Skellige origin judging by his tattoos, lingered on the edges of the torchlight. 

The first one had gone down quick and painless but he had been small and malnourished. This one would be a challenge. 

A fun one. 

Julian felt his mouth curl up in excitement. 

He had to find a way to separate him from his friends. Julian slipped through the undergrowth, creeping his way towards his next victim. 

Once Julian felt like he was close enough, he crouched, hiding behind a thick stone and whistled softly. A sharp thrill through the seemingly silent night. 

It had its intended purpose, startling the man, causing him to twist around, looking for the source. 

Good.

Julian had his attention and the others didn’t seem to notice. Heads filled with their promised fortune. Julian melted further into the shadows, softly whistling, watching as his next victim fell into his clutches.

He delighted in the fear radiating from the man as the brushes around him as Julian moved into position. 

“W-who’s there?” The man seemed to attempt to sound brave but Julian was salivating at the fear rolling off of him. 

Julian rushed out of his hiding spot, driving his knee into the back of one of the man’s knee, causing the man to stagger to his knees; Julian pressed his hand against his victim’s mouth, suppressing the man’s scream and jammed his dagger into the soft part of the man’s neck. 

He crumpled in Julian’s hands, warm blood coated Julian’s arms. Julian scoffed in annoyance, pulling out his dagger and the body dropping with a wet thump at Julian’s feet. 

Whelp, there goes the second doublet in a day. 

Whatever. 

Julian slipped back into the shadows, tracking down the remaining prey.

One of the man’s companions noticed him gone. He fell behind from the other three and was scanning the tree line for his friend. 

They just keeping Julian’s job easier and easier. Julian utilized the shadows, bending them to his will; slipping between them. Jaskier didn’t hunt men like his brothers. He never accepted contracts from men to hunt men. That behind said, if the need arises, Julian didn’t shed a tear for dead men. And he certainly knew how to hunt them. 

Julian whistled, catching his prey’s attention. He visually tensed up and started peering further into the woods, but he didn’t take the bait. 

So Julian whistled again. The man got cross. “What the fuck?” The man muttered, trudging into the woods. 

Heh. 

Julian slipped further back into the darkness. The man marched past Julian’s hiding spot and didn’t even bat an eye at the shadow next to him. 

Sucker. 

Julian lunged at his victim, dagger in hand and plunged it into the man’s back. The blade sunk into his back, just stopping a couple of inches from the hilt. Julian could hear the crunch of bone being cracked and broken. The squelched of flesh being ripped open. The man stagger forwarded, a scream forming on the man’s lips. 

To stop the man from alerting his brothers, Julian slammed his fist into the man’s rib cage; cutting off the man’s scream. As he staggered away Julian grabbed onto the back of the man’s face, kicked out his knees, and as he fell Julian felt the crunch of the spinal bones being broken. 

He yanked the dagger out of the man and turned back to the path and the remaining trio. 

Patience was never one of Julian’s strong suits. He always needed to be doing something. Sitting and waiting for the trio to split up, wasn’t high up on Julian’s list.

So fight him, if someone thought that taking on three bandits in zero armour was a little bit stupid. But Julian wanted this to be over. 

It was fun at first but now Jaskier’s clothes were stained and Pegasus was at risk. 

Julian crept out from behind the rock he was hiding behind and flung himself onto the back of the fellow at the back. Julian slashed at his neck, feeling the warm liquid pouring out of his neck. 

The man bellowed and clawed at Julian. Julian pulled himself up onto the man’s shoulders and catapulted himself forward, past the other two men. Before they could react, Julian slashed at the closest man’s calf. When the man staggered away, Julian pounced at him, the dagger aimed for the soft part of his thigh; where the femoral artery. Why people didn’t bother protecting it, Julian had no idea. 

It was where most of the body’s blood was contained. One swift nick and they were done for. 

Just like his victim. 

He screamed and collapsed against the tree. 

Julian cackled and pivoted to face the other two bandits. 

Except that Julian was too slow. 

Razor-sharp pain ran up his spine, almost gave him a tingling sensation. Julian cursed and parried the upcoming blade with his dagger; but due to the size and force difference, Julian’s dagger went flying out of his hand. 

Fuck. 

He jumped back to avoid the large arcing slash coming towards his chest. 

He slammed his foot into the knee of his incoming attacker. 

The man yelled out in pain and Julian lunged towards the hand holding the sword, grabbing the wrist of the man and wrestled it out of his hand, slamming the knife into the guy’s chest. 

Julian whirled around and faced the last man, who looked a little worse for wear. Blood coated the man’s face and trailed down his once-white shirt. 

He staggered towards Julian, but with a flick of Julian’s wrist, his newly retrieved dagger went flying into the man’s upper chest. He undramatically collapsed into a heap on the ground. 

He flickered his eyes over to the last remaining man. 

“Pl-please,” the man choked out. He clutched his leg in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding and slowly scurried back, away from Julian’s slow approach. 

“Why? You certainly weren’t planning to give me any.” Julian crouched in front of the man, disdain coating his feelings. 

“W-witcher!” The man’s eyes blew wide in fear. 

“Hm. You’re an astute one. A real scholar.” Julian arched an eyebrow. 

He was tried. He’s been denounced by what he thought was his best friend,chased by wolves, and now by bandits. Why should he be merciful? The world certainly hasn’t been merciful for him the past day or so. 

This man had plans of slitting his throat while Julian was asleep. So why should Julian give him any mercy? They certainly weren’t considering that. 

“I-I’ll do anything. Please!” The man gargled out. 

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Julian was done being kind. 

“Perhaps I should just let you bleed out. It’ll give you time to think about how sad and miserable your life has been to lead you to prey on travellers alone on the road. Disgraceful.” 

The man had no snappy response, shame really. 

Julian sighed and stood up. 

“But alas, I just don’t have the patience to make sure you get your just desserts.”

The man started pleading again. Then he stopped. His death was quick. Which was less than what he deserved. 

Julian stepped back and observed his handiwork. With a start, Julian realized that the man was around the same size as him and he had armour. 

That felt a little morbid. 

But that was the mode of life currently. 

Julian needed something to protect him. He no longer had protection. 

Fuck it. 

The man was going to rob him so Julian was going to return the favour. 

The armour wasn’t the greatest quality. Judging by the rough edges and clumsy stitches, it was made by an amateur. Still good enough to protect Julian. He’d probably have to take a few contracts to get enough coin to get himself back up on his feet. 

Or at least until he made it Novigrad and fished his old belongings from Vivaldi bank. Vimme owed Julian an old favour after Julian broke a particularly vicious curse levied against him after some upset client. Before Julian dawned the mask of Jaskier, he stashed his old gear in the vault with great threats to Vimme that if his things were disturbed then there was going to be hell to pay. 

Vimme laughed and swore on his reputation that his belongings would be safe. That sated Julian’s nerves. Like a witcher, a banker’s reputation was everything to them. 

A witcher without his gear was going to be a target. Better be a man in armour than a witcher without his swords. 

Time to put the ring back on.

Julian patted the pockets of his doublet before he put his temporary armour on, and frowned when he couldn’t feel the lump of the ring. Probably got shoved into a corner. 

He shoved his hands in his pockets. 

Shit. 

He couldn’t feel it. 

It was gone. 

Julian cast his eyes to the ground, desperately looking for his precious ring. 

No. No. No. No. No. No!

Shit. 

That ring cost him a fortune. 

He was not going to lose it because of some stupid fucking bandits. 

Julian snarled, eyes tearing across the dark ground, desperately trying to find the ring. He couldn’t see the cold glint of the ring whatsoever. He needed that ring. He couldn’t lose it. 

Julian dropped to his knees, tearing at the grass, blood seeping into the knees of his trousers. 

He wasn’t seeing it anywhere. Even with his enhanced witcher senses. 

No!

Burning tears sliced grooves into his skin. All that hard work was gone. Those happy years were gone in an instant. Jaskier was gone. He couldn’t ever be Jaskier again. Jaskier was dead. 

Julian wasn’t sure if he was crying over the loss of the ring, and the fortune attached to it, or the death of Jaskier.

Well, let's be honest, it was the same thing. 

***

Julian’s body ached came morning. He spent all night looking for the ring. He couldn’t find it anywhere. It was lost. 

When dawn broke, Julian had accepted his fate. He was no longer able to be Jaskier. He was back on the Path. 

Back to being a witcher. 

With his new armour and borrowed sword donned, Julian sat next to his fire, staring at his lute. He had no use for his lute anymore. Julian knew that he should sell the lute. The money would be able to help him get back on his feet, but deep down Julian couldn’t bring it upon himself to do so. 

Jaskier would never sell his lute. It was his greatest possession. He’d rather die of starvation than be parted with the lute that Filavandrel aén Fidháil gifted to him. It would feel like a kick in the teeth to sell it.

Julian traced the edges of his lute, plucking at the strings. His heart ached at the familiar sound. It was familiar yet so different. His hearing changed so much. It didn’t feel right. Julian stopped plucking. 

He shouldn’t play. 

It would just continue to stab at his heart. A reminder that Julian wouldn’t be able to go back to his old life. 

He stared at the lute, dark feelings started crawling up his throat. Was the point of holding onto the lute if he was never going to use it again. It was just a painful reminder of what he’d never have again.

He gripped the throat of the lute so tightly that the strings cut into his hand. 

Why had he let himself be distracted by the frivolous life of a bard? He had let himself be distracted from the Path. His teachers would rip his innards out of they saw how weak Julian had become. 

Gods, he was so stupid. 

So fucking stupid. 

Julian gasped, heaving in painful breaths as tears sliced down his cheeks. He clutched the lute, shaking heavily. 

He became weak. Jaskier ruined his life. Julian had been blinded by all of the praise and gold that his songs brought him. He’d grown contempt and weak. Allowing Geralt to do everything for him. 

Fucking shit!

His sobs filled his ears. He ducked his head, closing his eyes and tried to calm himself. He should have stayed on the Path. Away from this heartbreak. Kept his head down and done his job. 

Julian could feel his hands shake his hands. He tightened his fist to try to stop the shaking. 

He heard a sharp twang and heavy snap. 

When he opened his eyes he saw red lining his eyes. In front of him, he was the snapped throat of his lute. The broken strings curled around his tightened fist and the rest of the lute dangled precariously with one unbroken cord. 

Julian dropped the lute in shock, his whole body shaking at this point. He broke his lute. His one precious possession. His tears blurring the sight of his broken lute. First his ring now his lute. He kept destroying all the facets of his life as Jaskier.

He couldn’t stop the shaking. The red of his vision consumed him. 

Fuck this! Fucking shit! 

Destiny was a shrivelling fucking piece of shit. 

Julian snarled, snatching his broken lute and slamming against it against a stone. It made a glorious cracking sound. 

So he did it again. And again. 

Each time making a painful twang that matched how he felt. He yelled, letting the frustration bubbling inside of him out. Tears streamed down his face. 

He laughed, unsure where the laughter was coming from but decided to let it out. The laughter could be described as maniacal. Loud, volatile, and insane. He tossed his head back and stared at the pre-dawn sky. Motherfuckers!

If the world, Destiny or whatever it's fucking called, wanted Julian fully back on the Path, then there were simpler ways to do it. 

The laughter died on Julian’s lips and now all he felt was emptiness. The lulling emptiness which felt like being on a boat all alone at night in the middle of the ocean. Just him and the vast emptiness. 

He dropped to his knees, the tears threatening to consume him again; his chest heaving and sobs filling his ears. 

***

As a final ode to Jaskier, the poet who brought peace to Julian’s exhausted world, Julian dug a small grave for the lute and a few trinkets that Julian associated with Jaskier. He gently placed the lute in the grave, his heart low in his chest, and started piling the dirt back into the hole. 

Goodbye Jaskier. You burned bright and hard. Loved with all of your heart. 

Julian wanted to say that he hoped that Jaskier would have a better life in the next life, but Jaskier was just a lie. An extension of Julian. A way that he could attempt to express what Julian attempted to hide.

Julian stood up and brushed off his dirty palms on his trousers, a pair of thick dark green cotton trousers that typically Jaskier would not be caught dead wearing. 

They were stashed at the bottom of his saddlebags in case of something like this. A time where he needed to go incognito. 

Julian returned to his saddlebags and went to business. 

He sorted through his belongings, separating them into three sections. 

What he would sell, what he would keep and what to burn. 

His rings and pretty trinkets would be useful at a market. Fetch him some coin. He’d keep some of his less flamboyant articles of clothing he’d keep. Dark trousers, plain shirts, etc. The silk doublets would either be burned or stripped for bandages. 

He could sell them. He’d have to find an appropriate market for it and Julian didn’t want to wait until he got to Novigrad for that. That’d make him more of a target. Julian didn’t want to bring more of a target towards himself. 

The jewelry would have to be enough. 

Julian ripped up his clothing and stuffed them into his first aid kit. 

The remainder of the clothing was burned. 

Julian watched as the fire grew big and burned hot. The ache of his bones was creeping upon him. He needed sleep. He’d half debated on crashing here for the rest of the day, but he needed to move on. The bodies were going to draw attraction to his campsite. 

And Julian really didn’t want to run into Geralt.

That’d be a fun conversation to have. 

“Ready girl?” Julian started to saddle up Pegasus. Pegasus sneezed and went back to grazing. Julian was going to take that as a yes. 

Saddling up Pegasus was a comforting ritual. At least this didn’t change. Pegasus was a lazy lug in the morning. Whenever Geralt wasn’t in a rush, Julian would take his time saddling Pegasus and Roach up, brushing them down first, sneaking them snacks; just generally that getting them ready for a long day of riding. 

It still brought comfort to Julian, but it felt strained.

He was just ready to get the hell out of there. 

Julian swept one last look around the campsite, hoping that he’d be able to spot the ring. 

With his heart slowly chipping into pieces, Julian led Pegasus onto a different path from which they came upon, and started back onto the main road. 

Time for Julian of Redania to truly come back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw blood and gore   
> Please read at your own discretion

Things were absolutely going to shit for Geralt. He’s lost Yen and Jaskier in one fell swoop. Two of the people that he’s valued highly outside of his brothers and Vesemir, gone. The walk down from the top of the mountain was frosty quiet. It wasn’t until Geralt had lost Jaskier that Geralt realized how much he liked Jaskier’s constant chattering. 

_Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shovelling it? If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands._

Fuck. 

Geralt dropped his head onto the thick wooden table in the small tavern. 

He didn’t mean the words. Well the small angry part of him did. Geralt usually ignored the anger, brushing it off when it reared its ugly head. 

It came out accidentally, in the heat of the moment and when Geralt said it, he instantly regretted it. 

He didn’t know how to apologize to Jaskier. With his brothers and Vesemir, when one of them blew up in anger, they’d sulk off for a period and then silently come back. A nod was their form of an apology. Words were always were hard for them. They went unspoken but not unheard. 

But Jaskier was different. 

He was delicate. Humans in general were delicate, Jaskier even more so. He was a poet, words were everything to them. A simple nod and gentle punch to the arm didn’t work. 

Geralt was terrible with words. 

And there was the blood. 

He smelt it when he came down. Human blood. 

Fuck. 

Gelt had followed the smell, coming across a small clearing. Then he recognized the scent. 

_Jaskier._

The clearing hadn’t portrayed a good scene. Dead wolves and a trail of blood. No body. Good thing. Unless the wolves dragged off the body. There hadn’t been any marks to indicate it. 

The trail of blood had ended at a nearby river. 

The scent didn’t come back until Geralt got back to Roach. Jaskier got out safely. Who knew that Jaskier had it in him. 

Hm. 

Geralt frowned into his ale. How had he not noticed that? 

To him, Jaskier always seemed to be the soft poet. Geralt always admired that of him. He had a unique way of keeping his sunshine in a world that liked to throw shit at those like Jaskier. Not that Geralt would ever tell Jaskier, because Geralt knew that Jaskier would lord over that, but he was like sunshine and daffodils. Geralt didn’t mind taking the hard tasks when setting up camp because the smile that accompanied him made Geralt hate the world a little less. 

Jaskier never seemed to like to fight. Always hung back and watched as Geralt fight. 

Hmm. 

He’ll have to rectify this problem.

Geralt tried to stand up, and his whole world tilted sideways. Maybe tomorrow. 

Jaskier wasn’t hard to track. He always stuck to the main roads when travelling along, surrounded by people, and whenever he felt heartbroken, he’d go to two places. Too Oxenfurt or to the Countess de Stael. The two of them had a relationship similar to Geralt and Yen’s. 

Ignoring the murmurs of the townsfolk around him, Geralt stumbled up to his room. 

Locking the door behind him, Geralt collapsed onto the bed. The creaking wood-beams shifted in out of focus. The grains of the woods twisted and twirled themselves into vague shapes. If Jaskier was here then he’d make up a story about the images he saw in the shapes; chattering on until he dropped from exhaustion.

It was annoying but endearing. 

Reminded him of Lambert when he was little. At least when he wasn’t sulking around Kear Morhen. 

Jaskier reminded him of the time before Kear Morhen churned him up and spat him out. They were kids, running around and pulling shit around training. Him and Eskel sneaking into the kitchens and stealing honey cakes. 

Yen, she was a testament to power. She survived through the pain and became better. She made Geralt hope. Hope was a dangerous thing. 

No witcher dared to ever hope. 

Fuck. 

He was getting too much in his mind. 

Geralt grunted and sat up; unclipping the harness of his swords and tossed them on the side of the bed. They landed with a painful clack. He then peeled off his armour, the thick heavy armour landed into a pile onto of the swords. He let out a relieved sigh when he pulled off his boots. 

He may live in his armour but it was still nice to take them off at the end of the day. 

The quiet ache in his chest knocked louder when the still room became even stiller. The muffled sounds of the tavern below him still reached him. That just made him feel even more lonely. 

Geralt sighed and closed his eyes. 

He’ll track down Jaskier tomorrow. If needed he’ll get on his knees and beg. Damn what his brothers would tease him for if they ever heard. Jaskier was more important. 

If they ever met they’d understand. 

The Path be damned. Jaskier, his friendship, his warmth, that was all that mattered right now.

Geralt didn’t care how long it took, he’d track him down and apologize.

Even if it’s the last thing he’d do. 

***

The morning sun rose with a vengeance, beating down strongly on Geralt as he spurred his horse onward. It was already a hot day, and he was sweating his balls off under his thick leather armour. His head ached from the shitty ale that he drowned himself in last night. He wiped his eyes with a gloved hand and scanned the horizon, looking for anything to indicate Jaskier’s presence.

His shoulders ached, arms scooping low in his frame. He was hunched over on Roach, trying not to sway as he tilted from side to side. He felt awful. He wasn’t sure how much of that was from the ale. 

Roach didn’t seem particularly happy either. Yesterday, when he finally made it back to her, she nipped at him. He didn’t remember the last time she nipped at him. 

He wasn’t sure if he was seeing things but he swore some sort of reproach in her eyes. 

Geralt was probably protecting his feelings onto her.

He plodded along, Roach snuffling as she went. 

Trying to ignore the burn of the sun on his head, sweeping his eyes back and forth and nose twitching. He doubted that he’d run into Jaskier right away. He had to be patient, track him down. Geralt knew that if he’d rush trying to find Jaskier then he’d miss clues or prints that would lead him towards Jaskier.

Geralt gritted his teeth as the leather squeaked against his skin. He hated summer. He’d never admit it but he missed winters. He was with his family. Getting drunk with his brothers, laughing at the dumb jokes that they, usually Lambert, told.

The Path was hard and the Path was lonely.

Hm. 

He didn’t like this train of thought.

That was one good thing that Jaskier brought. His constant chatter and music filled up his mind. The music was fucking catchy. When Geralt was off travelling alone, he’d catch himself humming to one of Jaskier’s songs, thinking of the sunshine that was sorely lacking in his life.

And during his winters, he listened to so many drunken renditions of _Toss a Coin to Your Witcher,_ that Geralt just associated with his brothers, and Vesemir sitting off to the side with a pint of ale judging his two sons. 

Roach’s ears flickered back and she snuffled in nervousness. Geralt straightened up, all senses of fatigue gone. He listened to the quiet road, the birds chirping, wind rustling through the trees, the small animals burrowing under the forest floor. 

It was peaceful. That was what made Geralt nervous.

Roach certainly felt like something was off, she looked like she was about to bolt. Long ago Geralt learnt to trust Roach before his instincts. She acted purely on instinct, she didn’t have any reason to lie.

Geralt closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He opened his other senses, no longer relying on his eyesight alone.

Then he smelt it.

He always hated that the smell of human blood. Innocent human blood. It churned his stomach, knowing that he wasn’t able to come to the aid of the people which he was tasked with saving.

Please don’t let it be Jaskier.

Please.

Geralt nudged Roach towards the edge of the path. She didn’t want to go at first but soon realized that Geralt wasn’t about to let this go. He needed to know if it was Jaskier.

He needed to know if he’d failed his friend. His brave human friend who trusted Geralt with his life.

It was his fault.

Geralt dropped Roach’s reigns booked it into the forest, following his nose. The scent of blood getting stronger. Mingled with a mirage of different scents. The growing pit inside his stomach twisted and reared its ugly head.

He could smell the ridiculous cologne that Jaskier insisted on wearing. It was faint, a couple of days old. Hopefully, he didn’t get caught up in whatever happened here. The scent of blood was overwhelming. It made bile rise up in his throat.

Geralt slowed his run when he saw the blood. It pooled on the ground around his boots. He came to a full stop upon coming to a sprawling mass of limbs. He crouched and rolled the body onto its back.

The first body didn’t seem very impressive. That was a bad way to speak about a dead body, but it was the truth. He died by a clean cut to the throat. Judging by the size of the wound, it was a dagger; perhaps thrown looking at the force of impact.

So it was man vs man. Not something Geralt needed to get into. He left human affairs to humans. Witchers were neutral. Though not all schools followed this creed. The Cats were particularly known for this trait and their general lack of control over their emotions. Geralt tried to stay away from Cat school witchers for that reason. They had a loose grip on reality. They were also extremely unorthodox in their fighting, using weapons that witchers were not supposed to use. Lambert found it hilarious, always trying to copy the cats and the cranes. Though the nature of their school made them adapt their fighting style. Cats were usually just insane. 

Geralt examined the body, trying to see if there was anything else to give away the identity of the killer. There was nothing.

Hm.

He stood up, brushing off of his hands on his trousers and continued investigating. The next body was off the main path.

Geralt has never liked seeing dead bodies, his stomach twisted and revolted against him at the sight of the dead body. This one was no different.

Geralt counted a deep slash on the back of the dead man’s body, breaking through bones and ripping through flesh like it was nothing. His neck was broken. Whoever did this was strong as well as a predator. With the bodies being spread out in this sense, whoever did this was capable of thinning out the herd in a way that made Geralt sick.

He was a wolf, yes. But he faced his prey head-on. This person stalked and toyed with them like it was a game. It sickened him.

He hunted monsters. What was the line between monsters and humans? Creatures acting on instinct and survival instinct and men deliberately hunting others.

Geralt put the man down and noticed the third body. It was similar to the last victim. Out of the way, secluded from the rest of his peers with his throat cut. He drowned in a pool of his blood.

Fuck.

Geralt didn’t touch this body but returned to following Jaskier’s scent. It was faded and that worried Geralt.

Whoever did this had no mercy. If they did this to the bandits, what would they do with his bard?

The remaining bodies were a blood bath. They were grouped together, every inch of their bodies were covered in blood. Geralt counted slashes and gouges littering the body. The ground was going to be sainted with blood.

They were slumped against trees and rocks. The last one was what made Geralt truly sick to his stomach. He was separated from the rest of his friends, marks showing that he tried to get away from his attacker.Geralt saw the gash on the man’s upper thigh; but also the twisted neck.

No mercy.

What was worse was how the body was splayed. It looked like something was pulled off of him. His white shirt was bloodstained in certain spots but sections of the shirt was pristine. Like he had something blocking the blood.

Something like armour.

Did his killer really need to take a trophy?

Made him sick.

Geralt swallowed the bile rising into his throat. He forced himself to go further in, closer to where Jaskier’s scent was getting stronger.

Geralt wasn’t religious but right now he sent a quick prayer to whatever god was out there that Jaskier was alive and okay.

The campsite wasn’t gruesome. Which didn’t exactly settle Geralt’s nerves. At first glance, it didn’t look like anything. A small ring of stones was set up for a campfire. Ash was spread out around the ring of stones. Which was strange; a usual fire didn’t produce this much ash.

Geralt’s eyes were trained on the ground, he crouched and stared at them, trying to make sense of what happened. He saw old tracks, heading towards the campsite, one man and horse. The man didn’t seem like much. Standard body shape, not a soldier, lithe, seeming a little scatterbrained as he shuffled around.

Hm. 

Could be Jaskier.

_Fuck._

While Geralt never paid attention to his tracks, it seemed like him. He would often stop and wander off and then snap back to the path. He was often a little absent-minded. It often amused Geralt in the past. 

His scent had faded around the entrance of the campsite. That worried Geralt. It just stopped. It didn’t leave, didn’t linger in one area. It just stopped. 

It was like someone opened a portal and pulled Jaskier through.

Geralt continued on, seeing where the rider tied his horse. The grass had been grazed and a little puddle of water where it must have spilt over.

Geralt moved over to the campfire, trying to find out an explanation for the strange ash.

He crouched in front of the ring of stones and examined them. The stones were charred to the point where Geralt must conclude that there must have been a raging fire. A proper cooking fire was low in flame and more coals than flame. Whoever made this fire was trying to burn something.

He poked around, brushing through the ash.

His heart sank when he pulled out a strip of turquoise silk. The only person that Geralt knows who would unabashedly wear this flamboyant colour. Jaskier would never let his clothing be treated this way. He once whined at Geralt for an hour straight when he got monster ichor on one of his shirts.

It wasn’t even one of his silk shirts. Just a plain cotton shirt save for some well-done embroidery.

Geralt turned over the strip of silk in his hands, trying to stop himself from throwing up. What had happened with Jaskier? Was his friend’s blood on his hands?

He turned back to the firepit and dug through the pile of ash. More strips of different colours and fabrics. All colours that Geralt’s defiantly seen on Jaskier. When he came back to Roach, Geralt had noted a few of Jaskier’s clothes were scattered around Roach. That had troubled Geralt, as Jaskier was extremely possessive of his material goods but he had brushed it off as Jaskier being in pain and in a rush. Geralt had collected the artifacts and planned on giving them back to Jaskier when they made up.

Now, this troubled Geralt. 

Was someone forcing Jaskier? Was he fleeing from someone? Was it Geralt? Why was he burning his things? Why was he trying to burn his identity away?

Geralt now more questions than answers.

What the fuck was going on?

When he stood up Geralt noticed a disturbance in the earth.

No. No.

The buried hole was too small for Jaskier to be buried. And if whoever did this hadn’t buried the other men, so why bury Jaskier?

Geralt collapsed to his knees in front of disturbance in the earth. The earth was soft and had barely settled. Geralt ripped through the dirt, scraps flying as Geralt dug.

Please, please, don’t let it be Jaskier.

What Geralt found was worse.

It was his lute. Smashed to pieces.

Fuck.

If there was one thing that Jaskier valued above his life was his lute. It was his baby. It was the first thing Jaskier looked for when he woke up after being knocked out. Geralt had started to look out for the fucking lute out of habit. It appeased Jaskier and made Geralt’s life easier when Jaskier was happy. 

Shit.

What happened?

This was all Geralt’s fault. He collapsed onto the ground in front of the lute. Streaks of burning water ran down his face and fell onto the lute he cradled in his arms.

Geralt didn’t remember the last time he cried.

Witcher’s didn’t cry.

Jaskier was gone. 

Geralt cradled the lute to his chest. Perhaps there was some way that he could salvage it. For when he found Jaskier again. He’d like that. Geralt wasn’t good with words but he was good with actions. Doing these things meant he didn’t have to talk and cringe his way through emotions. 

Lambert always fell behind on making potions; he was always focused on his bombs then potions. Whenever they ended up together, travelling or wintering, Gerald would always make extra for Lambert; tucking them away into his brother’s healing kit.

Eskel, unlike his brother, was good at keeping his supplies in order. So whenever Geralt needed to go into markets and towns, he’d always pick up scented soaps that Eskel for some reason adored. His favourites were lavender, honey, and lemon.

Geralt thought that if he fixed Jaskier’s lute, it might convey how he felt.

Sure he could pick up some pretty trinket that Jaskier might like, but that wouldn’t be enough.

Gingerly, Geralt picked himself up, lute stilled in his arms.

His stomach flipped when he saw the splayed bodies of the bandits. He should burn them. It’ll stop the Necropaghes from nesting around here.

Later.

Geralt watched where he stepped on his way back, trying to avoid the bodies as well as roots and stones as he had precious cargo in his arms.

He froze when he heard the crunch of something under his boot. It sounded metallic, not organic. Geralt took a step back and crouched to see what he had stepped on.

He brushed away some pine needles and dead leaves and spotted something shiny,

It was a ring. A silver band with a turquoise gem set in place.

_Jaskier’s_ ring.

Jaskier’s ring which had a giant crack down the middle.

Fuck.

Jaskier was going to kill Geralt when he saw what Geralt did to his ring.

He’s worn this ring for as long as Geralt on him. On his left ring finger. He never spoke of it but Geralt was always interested in it. In his younger years, Jaskier hardly wore any jewellery just the ring. As years went on. Jaskier’s taste in anything material became more bright and gaudy, but he kept wearing that ring.A simple silver ring. Even Geralt knew that the ring clashes with all of his other jewellery.

Part of Geralt wanted to know why.

Was it a family ring?

A gift from a long-lost lover?

He was brought out of his musings when his medallion started humming. He looked down at the medallion and then back to the ring.

Interesting.

Now, why would Jaskier need a magic ring?

Geralt wasn’t talented enough to know what sort of spell was placed on the ring, just knowledgeable to know that there was magic here.

He sighed, wishing that Yennefer was here. She could figure it out in an instant.

Perhaps it was some sort of glamour spell. Jaskier hasn’t aged a day since Geralt melt him. He still looked like a youthful man, fresh out of teenagehood. Geralt never understood why humans were so obsessed with looking young. Ageing was a sign of respect; that someone had lived despite the hardships that life threw at them. Old age means all too witchers. Only the best made it to where their temples turned silver.

Jaskier seemed not to think of that. He seemed vain enough, obsessing with his skincare and lotions, that he’d go out and acquire a glamour for his ageing visage.

Stupid really in Geralt’s mind.

It didn’t really matter why Jaskier had gotten a glamour, at least not now. Geralt had to find Jaskier. The bard seemed to disappear without a trace.

***

It was midday and the sun was high in the sky. The sun was burning on Geralt’s back. His long hair was sticking to the back of his neck.

The cicadas in the distant fields buzzed all around Geralt, thriving under the burning sun.

Geralt stood in front of a burning pyre, watching the bodies of the bandits slowly turned into ash. He felt the heat of the fire lick his skin. His heart heavy with the dread of knowing that whoever killed these men was still out at large and Jaskier was in trouble.

However, Jaskier was involved, he was involved.

Geralt’s had to deal with lots of Jaskier’s so-called ‘enemies’, usually cuckold husbands, sometimes wives but they were usually harmless. Well, harmless compared to some of the people which Geralt has met. Men and women who’d probably let the grudge go in a year or two.

Whoever did this, Jaskier was in danger.

If he was a target or an accomplice, he was still in danger. If someone did this to the bandits then Jaskier would be next. The killer would turn on him eventually and carve him up.

Geralt had to find him before that happened. Protect him.

Jaskier’s ring was clutched tightly in his hand, a reminder.

Geralt refused to believe that Jaskier wasn’t already one of his victims. He refused to believe that Jaskier was dead. Until Geralt saw a body, Jaskier was alive and he was going to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the kudos/comments/bookmarks. It really motivates me to continue writing. It's really heartwarming.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love and support!  
> Just to let you guys know, uploads will be slower because my school semester is starting to pick up speed.  
> TW some gore  
> Also, the sea shanty mentioned is called Rye Whiskey by the Pirate Charles

Julian was not having a good time. The journey to Novigrad was an exhausting and painful trek. He didn’t have the supplies, his rings and other supplies didn’t bring as much coin as he wanted to. All of the coin he made was put towards food and ingredients for potions. He’s had little comfort for the whole trip. 

He was no stranger to camping out in the woods. He’s basically spent his whole life camping out in the wilderness. But at least he had a few nights in a tavern. This journey had him hiding in the woods, hunting rabbits and smaller prey and tearing into them with a frenzied hunger. 

The cloak of fear strangled him. He had little protection. 

He didn’t have his gear, his medallion, or Geralt. 

It was a painful couple of weeks. 

Pegasus even looked a little weathered. Poor thing. As soon as Julian got money, he’d splurge on treats and a roof over her head. She deserved it. 

The site of Novigrad’s city line on the horizon was a welcoming sight. Julian bowed his head, swaying in time with Pegasus’s steps. His shoulders ached with tiredness, limbs stiffened from nights where he tucked away in the forest, only getting snippets of rest.

Just a bit longer.

Julian rubbed his eyes, squinting at the approaching buildings, ignoring the people gawking at him. He knew he was a strange sight. A skeletal figure with dark circles and unkempt hair.

Oh, how he longed for a bed and maybe a warm body beside him. He didn’t really want any action, he was too tired for that. He just wanted comfort. The kind of comfort only brought by human contact.

The sounds of human clattering, those bustling around the city, people yelling their wares, sailors, filled Jaskier’s ears. He sighed smiled tiredly. That’s what he loved about being Jaskier, being around the people. Witchers were excluded from society; Jaskier was welcomed, accepted.

Stop it! Julian scolded his wandering brain. Reminiscing about the past wasn’t going to help him. It was only going to hurt.

Becoming Jaskier was a mistake. The brief moment of being happy wasn’t worth it. All it brought was a world of pain.

And now Jaskier’s legacy was handing over him. Every tavern that he was going to go to, he risked the chance to hearing his songs. His work, his emotions, his pain.

He needed to get somewhere where Jaskier’s legacy didn’t touch. Perhaps Toussaint, or the Nilfgaard Empire. Julian didn’t really like the Nilfgaards, he thought of them as pompous and self-righteous. Also, they were attempting to conquer the whole continent. But Witchers were neutral and despite their self-righteousness, they didn’t care much about Witchers.

They didn’t hunt Witchers. The general animosity still lingered but most citizens of the empire just accepted them. Bonus points, Geralt wasn’t a fan of the Nilfgaards either. So Julian had little chance of running into him.

But first, Julian needed to make it to Novigrad.

Not far now. The sounds were getting larger and Julian was practically salivating at the smell of bread. 

Julian slowed Pegasus and got off of her. He didn’t want to stay in the city, as much as he adored the city and what holds inside of it, he always had trouble falling asleep with all of the noise around him. He decided to stay outside of the city.

The innkeeper gave Julian a shrewd look at the idea of Julian leaving Pegasus in his stable but eventually relented.

So Julian made the rest of the trek on foot. The day was bright and cheerful. Despite the weariness of his bones, Julian felt his world lifted a little. It was hard to be sour when Julian could hear children laughing, people chatting. It was so lively.

Even though the city varied in its clientele, the lower rungs being prostitutes and poor folk, the harbour being filled with more prostitutes and sailors from all over the continent. Julian as Julian avoided the upper rings, the rich locals tended to turn up their noses to him; but as Jaskier, well let's just say there were a lot of spouses who wanted to castrate Jaskier.

Julian liked the lower rings, he got on with the prostitutes and sailors better. They hid their disdain for Julian terribly and it was easy to avoid them. Polite society hid their venom in honied words.

Julian hummed a sea shanty that he learnt years ago while on a Skellige boat.

_I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry. If the hard times don't kill me, I'll lay down and die_

_Rye whiskey, rye whiskey, rye whiskey I cry If you don't give me rye whiskey I surely will die._

Spending that time on the boat, hearing the Skelligers sing in harmony while working, awakened something in Julian. Those days, seeing how in tune they were together made Julian wish that he could have something that.

Jaskier’s best performances were the songs that the whole tavern joined it. It made his heart soar seeing how in unison they were. It’s why he always made it a priority to learn local songs and tales.

It always lightened the mood when people perked up, especially now in times where war was looming on the horizon, how it was on the back of everyone’s minds.

Julian stepped into Hierarch Square and spotted Vimme outside of his bank, chatting with a customer.

Julian hung back, slipping into an alleyway, and waited. He knew that it would hurt Vimme’s business if he was spotted doing business with a Witcher so openly. Things were hard for non-humans and Julian didn’t want to make it harder for the poor man.

Julian leaned against the cold brick wall and watched the square in front of him. He idly watched people rush from place to place, merchants trying to entice people to come to their booths.

If being honest, Julian wasn’t surprised that something was going on in the square. It was one of the main squares of the city, and the temple guards were fond of giving extreme examples of what is acceptable to the people in the square.

But it looked like a normal day.

The man lingered at the front of the store for a tad longer than Julian wanted.

When he finally left, Julian hoisted himself off of the wall and slipped over to Vimme.

Vimme looked up when he heard the door open to his bank. Julian gave him a tired smile. “Hey, Vimme. Long time no see.” His voice was hoarse from the extreme travel conditions he’s endured.

“Julian!”Vimme’s face cracked into a bright smile. “What can I do for you, my friend?”

“I need my things.”

“Ah. Back on the road then?” Vimme was one of the few people who knew Julian’s secret and he’s kept it a well-buried one. He took off the ring now and then, just so other Cat school Witchers knew that Julian was still alive.

Julian didn’t really consider Vimme a friend, but more of an ally, a close one. Vimme’s done a lot for Julian over the years; more than he’s really needed to in repayment.

They had a mutual understanding that if one needed help then the other would help. Julian’s done a few small things over the years and vice versa.

“Yeah. It’s time to get back onto the Path permanently. Thank you for all you’ve done over the years Vimme, it means a lot.” Julian gave him a little nod of respect.

“Well us folk gotta help each other, we not getting any other sort of help.” Vimme turned and unlocked his vault.

He wasn’t wrong about that. Most non-humans treated Witchers better. Julian liked taking contracts from them; they tended to give a little extra. Usually in the form of food or alcohol. They were cheerful in their interactions; unlike humans who didn’t like looking in his eyes.

Especially for Julian. It was unnerving enough to look into two amber eyes but seeing one amber eye and one steel grey gave them an uncomfortable reminder. That they, humans, were the reason for Witchers. Humans gave their young up because they were too cheap to give Witchers coin for their services. 

Humans willingly gave up their children, damn well knowing that their children went through terrible, torturous mutations. They hated to be reminded of that fact.

“Here you go, lad.” Vimme returned with Julian’s things. Most of his things were stored in an old leather saddlebag that he stole from Aiden the last time Julian saw him. Julian’s eyes softened when he saw his swords.

Oh, how he’s missed them. Julian couldn’t wait to get his hands back on them.

“Do you want the rest of what’s in your deposit box?” Vimme asked.

“The rest?” Julian questioned. He couldn’t remember what he put in there.

“Coin that you’ve stashed over the years. Some from your patrons.” Julian felt the back of his neck go red from the look that Vimme gave him. He was a bit more of a reserved man, unlike Jaskier and turned his nose up to Jaskier’s slandering ways.

“Yeah, I’m going to need it, get back on my feet and shit.” Julian slung the saddlebag over his shoulder and grabbed onto his sheathed swords. The smell of leather and sword-oil filled Julian’s senses. He gripped onto the pommel of his steel sword and it fit perfectly.

“If you need a private room just ask.” Vimme reappeared, sporting an unamused look. 

“Sorry. It’s just been a while.” Julian felt his face flush. How did this man get under his skin like this?

“Mhm. Here’s your coin.”

“Thanks, Vimme.” Julian shoved his coin purse into his inner pocket. “I’ll see you later.” He waved goodbye to his long-time ally.

He reached for the doorknob when he heard Vimme cleared his throat. Julian looked over his shoulder to him with an eyebrow arched.

“If you’re looking for work, a friend of mine has hired a crew to bring his merchandise back to Mount Carbon. It is a long treacherous journey…”

“Vimme,” Julian didn’t want to sound annoyed, after all the man seemed to want to help Julian. “You know that Witchers aren’t hired swords. We have a creed.”

Julian stuck that creed more than any witcher. Cats had the reputation of accepting contracts on anyone. Anyone and everything. Julian stuck to the creed to try to combat the reputation. 

“I know that.” Vimme waved a hand dismissively. “I am saying that if you are planning to head that way, the commander of the group would object to the company. And if you encounter anything on the way, you will be heavily compensated. All food will be taken care of.”

That…that sounded tempting.

Guaranteed food, compensation, and dwarven company which meant good dwarven alcohol. The money would go to his potion funds.

“I’ll think about it. Thanks, Vimme.” 

Vimme nodded. “They meet at the Oxenfurt Gate two days from now at dawn, if you so choose.”

“Right. Thanks again.” Julian gave Vimme an actual smile before opening the door and stepping out onto Hierarch Square.

***

Julian sat on the edge of his bed in the inn he was staying at; staring at the sheathed blade. His medallion hung heavy around his neck, a reminder of the heavy burden pressed on his shoulders. Julian couldn’t remember how long he lived on the Path, his body ached from the memories of past foes. 

He unsheathed his blade, the silver gleaming in the dim torchlight.

Moonblade.

He had gained the sword after dispatching a patch of wyverns in a duchy in Kaedwen. Nowadays Julian didn't like going to Kaedwen, the wolves held the territory fiercely and he wasn’t about to deal with that.

Moonblade was a sword made for a witcher. Olach of Ban Gleán to be exact. The sword had been made for him by the people of Eilander and anointed the priestess of Lilvani, a moon goddess.

It was a powerful blade and Julian sorely missed it.

His steel sword was crafted from his school’s own design. A round medallion pommel with a small cat design reminiscent of his own medallion, a long slender hilt and crossguard. The blade was ribbed near the tip of the sword and elvish runes were inscribed on the centre ridge.

They were beautiful and well kept despite their situation.

Julian stood up and took his silver sword in one hand. He twirled the sword around in one hand, feeling the familiar weight in one hand, as he picked up speed, he twisted his wrist in and twirled the swords in more elaborate swirls.

He grinned as he slowed his pace.

Still got it.

He gripped the sword with both hands and went through some of his basic forms, getting a feel for the weight once again.

Julian tried to ignore how quickly he started panting.

He sheathed his blade and placed it next to the steel sword. He ran a hand through his hair. At this point, he’s stopped taking care of his hair and it started growing out. It was at an awkward length that Julian couldn’t pull back yet.

He started pacing his room, frowning to himself.

He had a day or so, maybe he should look for a contract. Something small that he could do to get more coin.

Julian sighed and collapsed onto his bed. No. He’s fine. He’ll take the ‘job’, the only reason why was that Mount Carbon was on the way to Toussaint. Julian just really hated quiet time. Quiet time felt wrong like something bad was going to happen.

He sat up and went to the wall across from the bed and sat down. Crossed-legged and hands gently placed his hands in his lap. He took in a deep breath, feeling his breath rattle deep in his chest and closed his eyes.

He needed to shake Jaskier’s bad habits. Patience was a virtue and Julian needed to remember that. 

It was time to meditate.

***

One thing that Julian never mastered was the art of getting up at dawn. When he was travelling with Geralt, the man literally had to haul up Julian up to get him to wake up. Yet somehow, here Julian was, slowly making his way towards Oxenfurt Gate, Pegasus in tow. 

She wasn’t too pleased with having to move out of her warm shelter at the sight of dawn. She gave him a nip in annoyance as he saddled her up, but she eventually let him continue.

“Oi, look what the cat dragged in!” Came a cheerful dwarven voice.

Julian looked up and found a small group of dwarves armed to the teeth with weapons, surrounding a few wagons filled to the brim with boxes and barrels.

It was amusing, their choice of words. They had no idea how true it was. Julian was a cat. His slightly sharper than average teeth were a sign of that. The dwarves flinched slightly at Julian’s bared teeth in amusement.

“That’s me. The cat.” Julian rolled to a stop, rolling his shoulders back as he was still getting used to the weight on his shoulders. It’s been a while since he’s had swords strapped to his back.

The leader of the dwarves didn’t look too amused with Julian. He stood on the back of a wagon with his arms crossed. “Yer late.”

Julian looked up to where the sun was slowly rising and then back to the leader. “Dawn’s not fully here. I wasn’t given a specific time. I’d say I’m on time.”

The leader rolled his eyes and jumped off of the wagon. Julian defiantly heard him mutter an insult but he was just too tired and slightly amused to bite back. “I’m Zhadhar and these are my men. Zoltan, Karlerd, Derclar, Innind, Resca, Kromna, and Mienras.”

“Greetings. I’m Julian.” Julian tiredly waved to the crew.

“Ye don’t look like much of a threat. Skinny little thing.” The one, Karlerd, looked Julian up and down.

“Well fuck you too.” Julian rose an eyebrow. He was too god damned tired to deal with this.

One of the men, Zoltan let out a belch of laughter while Karlerd looked mildly offended at Julian’s insult. The rest of the crew seemed to relax a little more around Julian. “I like this one. Come you, can ride with me lad.” Zoltan waved Julian over to his wagon.

Julian liked this one. He happily led Pegasus over to Zoltan.

“Ah, don’t mind them. First time seeing the likes of you. Give them a day or two.” Zoltan gave Julian a little shrug.

“And you’re not?” Julian asked. He was genuinely curious. There were not a lot of humans or non-humans who weren’t nervous when they first met a witcher.

Zoltan paused in rearranging his wagon and shrugged again as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Nah. See I know you lot just do your job. No merciless killings for the sake of it. You get yer coin and walk off. Yer just weird from all the time spent alone.”

Julian barked in laughter, throwing his head back. “You’re not wrong. Though I do think some of my weirdness comes from being a cat.”

Still chortling, Julian clicked his heels into Pegasus’s side to start her going. She tiredly started plodding alongside Zoltan’s cart. Resca, who joined Zoltan on his cart, twisted around to look at Julian with a mild form of fear in his eyes.

Julian felt a little bad for the man, Julian wasn’t making much of an example of himself to prove that witches weren’t insane and out for blood.

Resca looked young. At least younger in comparison to Zoltan. He spouted a dark brown beard and a mohawk like Zoltan but Julian didn’t see any worry lines or crows feet lining his face like his partner.

Zoltan was an older-looking dwarf. His nicely trimmed beard and mohawk were a rusty red and had a dusting of freckles across his face. Laughter lines lined his face.

He looked like a friendly sort of man. The type of person that both Julian and Jaskier wanted to spend time with.

Zoltan didn’t get to question Julian’s response for a bit as they had started their journey. There was a burst of noise, carts creaking to life and horses snorting and stomping. Julian didn’t mean to flinch at the burst of noise but he was still adapting to his heightened senses.

His journey to Novigrad was very secluded. Julian avoided people and the main roads, opting to take the seldom-used paths to avoid more bandits. He wasn’t used to the noise. The noises of the forest, animals rustling in the underbrush and birds chirping became background noises. It was constant noise that he just got used to it.

Zoltan was silent until the city of the Novigrad was just a blip in the distance. He twisted over to Julian and examined Julian’s face. “Whatdda mean ‘a cat’?” Resca perked up at the question as well.

Julian plucked his medallion out from under his stiff slightly buttoned gambeson. It was buttoned at the top with leather straps and silver buckles. The gambeson was a dark blue with white sticking and horizontal stripes of chainmail lining the whole gambeson.

“Each Witcher belongs to a school. Depending on what school, the mutations we receive and combat styles differ. The mages who made us cats liked to play fast and loose with our mutations. It’s caused some of us to lose our minds. Others just become strange.”

Such as Aiden’s desire to always try to find the high ground no matter what the situation it was. Julian watched Aiden climb to the rafters of the hall that they were staying in and promptly fall asleep. Julian also remembers Aiden rolling over in his sleep and falling off, just barely catching the beam.

Julian laughed his ass off at his brother, watching as Aiden struggled to get back up all while cursing Julian like there was no tomorrow.

“Is that’s why yer eyes are fucked?” Resca asked.

Well, at least he had a better reaction than most humans.

“Resca!” Zoltan scolded. Resca went red and muttered an apology. “Sorry ‘bout that Witcher. He’s a young’un; still learning his manners.”

“It’s fine.” Julian waved them off. “Yes. It’s why my eyes are fucked. The mutations went wrong. To this day still got no idea why. Neither do the elders. Happens from time to time.”

That seemed to satisfy Resca.

He nodded to himself and stared out to the wilderness in front of them.

Julian smiled tiredly to himself at the intrigue of young people. They didn’t have the same filter as adults.

***

They had settled down for the night, the wagons tucked away into the forest, away from the road. Everyone was silent as they waited for dinner. Despite being on the road for the past couple of weeks, Julian was sore from the constant riding over the past couple of days; he doubted that the dwarves didn’t feel any different. They were all stooped low, waiting for dinner to be cooked. 

Even Resca, the most energetic out of all of them looked defeated. 

The dwarves and Julian leaned against the wagons, situated in a semi-circle around the crackling fire. The warmth of the fire made Julian feel sleepy.

Julian slouched down in his spot and pulled out his journal. 

Thank fuck that no one looked through his journals. Over the past twenty years, they were filled with poems, songs, gossip, and the usual monster and contract information.

Julian decided that he should document his decision to leave the Path, what he did, and his reasoning to come back to the Path. When he died and someone ever found his journals, he wanted to be remembered. Maybe some poet in the future will stumble upon his sad tragic tale and make a song bout him. He won’t be forgotten.

That’s what scared him. To be forgotten; be one of those faceless victims of the past.

“What are you doing?” Resca asked.

“Writing in my journal. All witchers do it.” Julian didn’t bother looking up.

“Why?”

Zoltan snorted in amusement at Resca’s questions. Resca has been asking Julian questions about witchers incessantly over the past couple of days.

“Well in the past, witchers did it to help new witchers learn about the beasts they faced. It’s a way for us to learn from the past. Now? It’s just a habit for us at this point.”

That wasn’t the complete truth. While most people, and witchers alike believed that no more new witchers were being produced, the cats believed otherwise. Because of their nomadic nature, the fate of the cats was unknown.

Julian knew that some of his old masters camped together, at an abandoned castled in Etolia, near Stygga castle. Old habits die hard. The recipe for their mutations wasn’t lost. The mages who administer the mutations were still alive.

There was a chance the cats could back.

But Julian didn’t know. He stayed far away from the rest of the cats. Aiden followed a similar philosophy.

There was a chance that a future witcher found his journals once Julian was long gone and decide that he didn’t have to follow the path that was set out for them.

“Oh cool! Is there a central library or something?”

Julian paused, not sure what to tell him. It was common knowledge that witchers had their own keeps. Julian was worried that he’d tell Resca more information that might hurt his brothers. He closed his books and sat up.

“Each school does something different. It depends.”

“Like Kaer Morhen?” Zhadhar asked. Julian realized he had the apt attention of the whole group.

“Yeah. That’s the wolf's home. Got sacked awhile ago.” Julian mumbled the last part.

“So what did the cats do?” Innind asked.

“Grew up in a caravan. My faction was nomadic. We trained wherever we could. Was supposed to prepare us for the life on the Path.” Then the caravan was gone. Julian wasn’t apart of it. It mostly older witchers and trainees. He had been on the Path at the time.

The dwarves seemed to sense that Julian didn’t want to discuss this further.

***

It took longer than Julian expected for the question to arise. They were a week and a half into the journey and Julian was in the midst of having a discussion with Innind about the bullwhip he was making. Julian always enjoyed learning new crafts, seeing the delight in people’s eyes when they spoke about their work.

They had gotten onto the topic of weapons, then onto the topic of witcher weapons. Why witchers only used swords. The reason? Tradition. Julian spat on tradition. He liked fighting with a dagger and sword; it gave him the edge he needed against enemies. They expected one blade but got two.

Resca had chimed in once he heard the topic of witchers arise.

“Why’s the white wolf…well, the white wolf?”

Julian was wondering when the topic of Geralt would come up.

“Because he’s a stubborn idiot who never walks away from anything.” The words left before Julian realized he said them.

A little ways back Zoltan howled in laughter. Julian shared a wry smile with Innind. Resca didn’t look satisfied with that answer.

Julian sighed, once again scrambling to find an answer that didn’t betray too much. 

“Well probably because of his hair. That doesn’t happen to all of us. Plus he had the fortune of having a persistent shadow off singing his praises.”

“What do you mean his hair?” Resca asked.

“It’s a mutation. Side effect of the trails. He was born with red hair, turned white after everything.” Julian waved his hand in front of his face.

“Hun.” Resca had a faraway look in his eyes.

"You ever meet that bard?” Zoltan asked. “Saw him in action once. Swore he was using some sort of magic to captivate the crowd. No way that he could do it with just his voice. I swear he's in love with the wolf from the way that he sings.” 

Julian tilted his head so no-one saw the small smile play on his lips. “Nah. Shame. Bet I could have convinced him to follow me instead of the wolf.” He bared his teeth in a false display of bravado. Instead, deep down, he wanted to cry.

These objectively unknowns knew how Jaskier felt about Geralt but the man himself couldn’t see it. Destiny loved to fuck with Julian.

***

Julian examined the little figurine in his hands. Zoltan had taken it upon him to teach Julian the art of woodcarving after seeing Julian’s interest in the group's different crafting abilities. He showed Julian the little figurine of a pig that he planned to give to his baby nephew once they reached Mount Carbon. Julian absolutely loved it. 

He’d left music behind, it being too strange for a witcher to take an interest in playing the music. But wood carving? Wouldn’t be too out of question.

His first carving was a very poor-looking cat.

He absolutely loved it.

Julian tucked the cat into his saddlebag and accepted the bottle of dwarven spirit from Zoltan; settling down into an evening of listening to the dwarves tell ludicrous tales from their past. 

***

It’s been two weeks and there hasn’t been a monster sighting yet. Somehow Julian didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps he wasn’t truly cut out for the Path as he thought. The guilt he cared those long years on the road with Geralt lessened slightly. 

That thought didn’t distress him like he thought it would.

***

Julian stooped low and rooting through the bush next to the road. 

“What ya doing?” Zoltan asked. Julian looked over and saw all of the dwarves looking at him.

Julian sniffled and yanked at a few blowball flowers. “Picking flowers.” He trapped a few steps in and poked through the bush, hoping the find more.

“Why?” Resca asked.

“Potion ingredients. I am criminally low on potions; to the point where my elders would be even more disappointed in me and there are plenty of free ingredients here. So why buy them from an herbalist where I can hunt them down here.” Julian waved a hand dramatically as he went hunting for more.

He didn’t even have the basics. Like, Swallow or white honey. Even Cat! The potion was named after his school.

Aiden would be so disappointed.

Zoltan hummed, in a way eerily similar to Geralt’s.

Julian’s stomach revolted against him. He closed his eyes and shook off the pain. No more Geralt. He was in the past. Julian was looking to the future. 

***

It was late at night, Julian was preparing himself to let him fall asleep when he heard Zhadhar get up and move to where Zoltan was keeping watch. Julian held himself tightly with his back turned to the pair but his ears open. 

“I think we may have a problem.” Zhadhar’s voice was low, an attempt to hide it from the rest of the party.

Now Julian was intrigued.

What could be so bad that Zhadhar didn’t want to divulge to the rest of the group?

“What is it?” Zoltan’s voice matched the pitch of Zhadhar’s.

"The witcher. I recognize him now. Took me a while, since nor a soul has seen him in twenty-odd years.” 

“Who’s he?”

“Mad Julian of Redania. Bad enough he’s a cat, but that cat.”

Julian’s heart sank. He’s had a lot of names in the past, depending on what region he travelled to. Unlike Geralt, he never had one sordid nickname follow him but several smaller ones that faded from time. He hid deliberately whenever one of those names arose.

“Mad Julian? What a fucking load of rubbish.” Zoltan snorted. Julian heard the little nick of metal against wood. “Ya really believe that? You’ve seen how humans treat witchers. Inflating shit that they caused.”

The palms of his hands stung as he tried to uncurl his tightly wound fist.

He was sick of crying and feeling bad for himself. This was all Jaskier’s fault. For twenty years Jaskier wore his emotions brilliantly on his sleeves. Jaskier wasn’t scared of feeling anything other than neutral blank. Jaskier screamed and cried, occasionally breaking things if he was really in the mood.

Julian couldn’t afford to do that.

“I ain’t fucking with you Zoltan.”

“Yeah? What’d you think he did?”

It was a vampire nest. A higher vampire had hypnotized a town, at least the majority of the town, and when Julian went in to investigate, a massacre happened. The higher vampire didn’t want to be caught and tried to leverage the people.

Julian failed them and the whole town was ripped to shreds by their friends and neighbours.

That was one of the few times that Julian went blind with rage. He hacked the vampire group to pieces, ripping the higher vampire to shreds.

Julian had been identified because someone near the town remembered his two eyes.

“Heard he massacred a town. Some of the bodies weren’t even together.” Zhadhar’s voice was hushed.

“I say bullshit. Where’s the proof. Did folks walk in on him killing those folks?” Julian’s heart hurt from Zoltan’s defiant protection of him.

Zhadhar was silent. His breath coming out in soft puffs as he thought. “Actually no. No one in the town survived. Only known to be him since some farmer saw him walking by.”

“Sounds like fucking humans. Blaming the non-human because they can’t fucking cope with one of their precious beings slaughtered an entire town.” 

Julian wheezed out his relief. He wasn’t in any immediate danger but he needed to keep his eyes open. He’d been deluded to believe that they were his friends. He needed to leave as soon as possible.

***

They were washing up alongside the banks of a river when they came upon their first monster. A nest of drowners. Julian was out of the water, lunging towards Moonblade before the dwarves even realized that there was a problem.

He cut down two drowners before the drowners registered the threat.

Julian yanked out his silver dagger, flipping it backwards and advanced slowly towards the thicket of drowners.

Drowners weren’t much of a threat. They were dumb animalistic monsters; lashing out at the first breathing creature that they saw. There was no cohesive standard of attack. The major threat of drowners was that they travelled in packs. Quantity over quality in this case.

Julian slashed at the drowner closest to him, ichor spouting out of the drowner as it stumbled backward hissing. He ran his sword through the drowner, pivoting to face the next one.

The drowner hissed, trying to slash at Julian but he easily ducked the claw and he stabbed the drowner. He brought up his dagger vertically and pointed his sword at the nest, creating a sort of pommel with the dagger.

He snarled and lunged at the drowners, dragging down the dagger across the drowner’s neck, rolling through the next two and slashing them with his sword.

He lunged towards his next victim, getting so close that the drowner couldn’t use their claws on him. He cut it down.

Julian jabbed his dagger behind him, wincing at the shriek of the drowner in his ears.

Fuck, that was loud.

He dropped the dagger and lunged at the drowner in front of him with both hands on his sword. Ichor sprayed everywhere as Julian yanked out Moonblade and slashed at the remaining few drowners.

Suddenly the world was weightless and a second later he felt the slam of the sandy ground grate against his bare shoulder.

The smell of putrid, rotting flesh filled his senses as the drowner on top of him slashed at him. Julian gritted his teeth and tried to push it off of him.

Melitele’s tits this thing was strong.

Its clawed, webbed hand tried to slash at Julian’s face.

Then Julian did the stupidest thing he ever thought to do, which was saying something as he’s done a lot of stupid things, and bit the drowner’s hand. The rotten bitter taste of monster ichor filled his mouth.

The thing screeched in pain, lessening its attempt to slash at Julian and he was able to knee the drowner in the stomach and push it off of him. 

He didn’t waste a second and went diving for his sword.

When he rolled around, sword in hand, he saw a great axe sticking out of the drowner’s stomach.

“What?” Zoltan demanded. “You think we’re gunna sit ‘round and let you have all the fun?”

Julian grinned and Zoltan flinched back.

Whoops. Julian forgot for a second that his teeth must be stained back with ichor. He looked around and saw that his small party had finished off the rest of the drowners.

He yanked his danger out of the dead drowner, tossing them next to his things, and uncorked a bottle of dwarven spirit. The strong bitter alcohol washed away the taste of the monster ichor as Julian tipped back the bottle and chugged it.

He shuttered when he finished the bottle and grimaced.

That was not pleasant.

“You alright lad?” Zoltan asked.

“Peachy,” Julian croaked. He reached for his water skin and started chugging that too.

“The ichor didn’t do anything bad, did it?” Innind asked. He looked a little queasy at the thought of consuming monster ichor.

“Had worse inside of me.” Julian finished off his water skin and grabbed his dagger once again. “This is going to be messy. You guys might not want to look.”

He hated collecting drowner brains and tongues. But unfortunately, they were essential ingredients.

“Potions?” Resca asked, eyes gleaming with interest.

“Yeah. Potions.” Julian rolled back his bruised shoulder as he pulled out his silver dagger, about going to work.


	5. Chapter 5

There are sometimes days where Julian just knows where it's going to turn out to be absolute shit. Waking up to rain, bandits, or the odd, disconcerting looking spider in his boots; or the time he woke up to a baby wyvern going through his food supplies. 

One look at the baby wyvern made Julian run for the hills. The mama would be right on his heels. 

Then, there are the mornings where nothing seems amiss. Pretty golden sun filtering through the trees, the soft wind rustling through the trees, making a symphony of leaves sing. Sometimes Julian expected a songbird to come down to sing alongside Julian. 

Then everything goes to shit. 

That’s how Julian’s morning started. He woke up to the smell of coffee and then managed to nail the target with the bullwhip that Innind was letting him borrow. 

Julian studied the bullwhip in his hands; this could be handy in the future. Innind demonstrated to Julian a more advanced move, one where he wrapped the whip around a weapon and yanked it. 

That’d make contracts with harpies and other winged creatures so much easier. He could pull them to him, even the fight. 

Julian was on the way back to where Pegasus was, mind filled with plans to oil his swords and armour. His hard leather breastplate was looking a little worse for wear and needing a bit of love. It didn’t seem like his party was in any rush to get moving any time soon. 

If he had some extra time he should do with his greaves. They weren’t made of leather-like his breastplate but steel. 

Unlike most styles, Julian’s greaves reached his knees, they were made of thick steel that protected his shins as well. They ended up in his boots for extra protection. He’s had plenty of fights where his knees and shins were the casualties. 

Aiden, the little bastard, liked going for them during their sparing. As revenge, Julian usually hit the soft spot under his ribs where Aiden hated getting hit. 

He was halfway to Pegasus when he heard the scream. 

Young. Female. 

Then the roar of a beast. 

Shit. 

Julian didn’t stop to scrounge up a strategy with the dwarves; he took off towards the scream. He could hear the dwarves groggily get up and reach their weapons. 

There was no time for him to wait. 

If that beast was what Julian thought it was, then there was a small chance that the poor girl would make it out alive. 

He crashed through the trees, branches whipping against his body, face, hands, thighs. The sound of crackling, snapping branches under his heavy boots. The screaming was getting quieter and the roaring louder. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

He was going to be too late. 

Julian wheezed, his throat feeling like it was being ripped to pieces. He coughed painfully but kept pushing himself. He needed to save her. 

His knees ached and his thighs burned. 

He burst into a clearing and the sight in front of him was worse than he thought. Armoured men littered the clearing, the remnants of a camping site lay in tatters. To his left he saw a middle-aged woman, her dark hair fanning out against the green of the grass, her mauve dress ripped to shreds. She looked too pale. 

In front of him, screeching to high heaven was a fucking archgriffin. At its claws a small figure in pale blue lay. Her strawberry blond hair shone in the early morning sunshine. 

She looked terrible. 

The griffin’s claws were too close to her for Julian’s comfort. 

Fuck. 

Julian took off through the clearing and tackled her to the ground; the griffin’s claws raking through his back. His armour took the brunt of it but a shock of pain ran up the back of his neck and a second later he felt something warm run down his back. 

He needed to get the griffin away from the girl, so she had a chance to make it from the trees. Hopefully, the dwarves would find her; keep her safe. 

Julian twisted around and drew the sign for aard. He felt a rush of power surge through him, like the winds of a storm hitting him atop a cliff. 

The griffin squawked as the force of the sign and flew back. 

“Go. Run!” Julian got off of the girl and pushed her towards the woods. She didn’t need another warning. She took off, skirts flying in the wind. 

Julian grunted and stood up on shaky legs. 

In one hand, he still gripped the whip and the other pulled out his silver sword. He stood facing the griffin and fear licked at the back of his neck. He hasn’t fought anything scarier than the nest of drowners and now he was facing a fucking archgriffin. 

Peachy. 

The griffin screeched, staring at Julian with hate filling his eyes. 

This wasn’t going to end well. 

He lunged just in time as the griffin swooped down with its claws out. Julian rolled to his side and lashed out with the whip, the tip just barely hitting the griffin’s claw. Unfortunately, he wasn’t proficient enough with the whip so when he tried to yank the griffin back, the whip came uncurled and it snapped back. The tip nicking his cheekbone. 

A shock of stinging pain snapped against him. 

Fuck. 

Julian snarling, tossed the whip to the side, as it was more of a liability to him, and yanked out his dagger. The griffin clattered to the group, spinning to face Julian.

They were at a stalemate. Neither of them seemed to want to lunge first, knowing that this fight was going to end in a world of pain.

He slowly inched towards the griffin, slowly placing one foot over another. The griffin watched Julian approach, shuffling over to the side. 

Both of their heads snapped to the side when they heard crashing to the side of them. The party of dwarves came stumbling into the clearing. 

Shit. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Julian saw the griffin rile up, its feathers poofing out in anger. It wasn’t staring at Julian anymore. It seemed like it decided that the party of dwarves was more of a threat than Julian. 

Julian saw the griffin tense, ready to attack. 

As soon as Julian saw the griffin move, he took off. He jumped and pivoted, slamming his dagger into the side of the griffin. It wailed in pain and swatted him off of it, sending Julian flying towards a tree. He barely had the chance to cast quen before slamming into the thick bark. 

Ow. 

“Move!” Julian gestured for the dwarves to get the hell out of there. 

He would not be able to fight the griffin if he had to keep an eye out for the dwarves. 

_Damn._

Was this how Geralt felt towards Julian? No wonder he was always so grumpy. 

“Find the girl. I’ll deal with this.” Julian wildly gestured to the griffin, yelling over the griffin’s squawk. He forced out the sign for axii. The griffin stumbled back and then took off, back into the sky. The griffin circled the meadow, squaring in anger. 

It better come back down, it had Julian’s favourite dagger. A dainty-looking thing with gold etchings. He nicked it from a former lover who was clearly not giving it the love it needed. 

He was going to have to rely on his signs to confuse the griffin and take it by surprise. 

Thankfully Zoltan and Karlerd registered what Julian was pleading for them to do and pulled the party out of sight and into the woods. He could hear the dwarves spreading out in the forest looking for the girl. 

He let out a sigh of relief. He knew that he didn’t have to worry about her wellbeing, the dwarves would find her. Two issues that Julian didn’t have to worry about. 

The griffin dived towards Julian; he stayed steadfast until the last second, his sword slicing towards the wing. He needed to cripple the griffin, prevent it from taking off again. 

His sword made a slick grinding noise when it sliced through tendon and bone. 

The griffin roared in pain, making Julian’s knees wobble. Julian yanked out the sword and dived out of the way before the griffin made an attempt to get at him. 

Julian skittered to the side, trying to jab at the other wing. 

The griffin swatted at him like Julian was an annoying gnat buzzing in his ears. Each time the griffin missed Julian, the more enraged it became. Stopping over the ground, making the earth shake. 

Julian weaved through the mass of feathers, striking where he could. Unfortunately, he didn’t get many hits in. 

He stumbled back, his chest feeling like something was standing on it, constricting his breathing. It came out in strained breaths which sounded more like wheezes. 

Julian coughed as he tried to breathe out. 

He didn’t make it out in time when the griffin charged at him. He tried to make quen but the sign was rushed and weak. 

He gasped in pain as the clawed foot slammed into his chest. 

Fucking shit. 

The griffin squawked in pleasure when it realized that it captured its prey. Julian squirmed, trying to get himself loose. He couldn’t cast anything, his hands were trapped by his side. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

This was going to be the end of Julian the witcher. Dead from an archgriffin. At least it wasn’t as embarrassing as being killed by a pack of wolves. 

When the griffin raised its foot, Julian seized his chance and sent out a quick axii sign. The griffin screamed in confusion. 

Julian scrambled to his feet, grabbing Moonblade and slamming it into the chest of the griffin. 

It let out a final guttural scream, seemingly a little pitiful towards the end, and collapsed on top of him. He cried out in pain as his chest was crushed under the weight of the dead body paralyzed him. And just as he thought things couldn’t get worse, he heard bones snap. 

Fuck. 

Julian sighed, dropping his head against the ground. This was an absolute shit hovel of a day. He allowed himself a moment to lie there, trying to ignore the crushing weight on top of him, panting. 

He gulped in the air like he was a man dying from thirst finding water again. 

Alright, time to go. 

Julian wriggled out a little and when he had his arms free, he rolled the griffin off of him. 

He pulled himself to a sitting position, leaning on Moonblade. He leaned his forehead against the cold pommel of his sword and closed his eyes. He still couldn’t breathe properly. Anytime he tried to inhale or exhale, it felt like something was stabbing him. 

Probably because something was. His ribs. 

He groaned and slowly pulled himself to his feet and stumbled over to the head of the dying griffin. He collapsed to his knees in front of the beady eye, staring up at him. 

Julian sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair and then promptly collapsed to his knees. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice croaked out. He took the head of the griffin and placed it on his lap. “You don’t know any better. They must have encroached on your home. This shouldn’t have happened.” 

The griffin croaked out in pain. Its eyes were slowly opening and closing. Julian could feel its life force slipping away. It didn’t try to fight Julian. 

Julian wheezed and smoothed back its feathers. 

“Go on. I hope you live better in your next life.” The griffin silently croaked. Julian felt the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. 

Such a magnificent creature shouldn’t have to die like this. 

Julian took in a deep breath, ignoring the pain and started to sing. It was an old elvish song, so old the meaning was lost. The Aen Seidhe sang it during the passing of a great warrior. Praise to the warrior’s life and hopes for its great future. 

The Aen Seidhe that Julian travelled with in his younger years taught him the song. It was not a happy memory that Julian liked to look back upon. It was a bloody massacre. Aen Seidhe lay dead and in the distance, Julian could hear the humans cowing in their victory. 

Julian’s song came to an end as the griffin’s eye closed. Julian pressed his mouth into a thin line and bowed his forehead against the griffin’s. “Be at peace brother.” 

It seemed to shudder as its last breath left it. 

With great pain, Julian forced himself up, cleaning his blood-covered sword on the leg of his pants then sheathed it. He then reached for his dagger, copying the same actions. 

“You alright?” Zoltan asked, appearing at his elbow. 

Julian gazed sadly at the griffin. Anger bubbling in his stomach. He hated senseless killing. “Fuck humans. All they do is ruin the world around them. The griffin didn’t know any better. It was just protecting its home.” 

“Ah.” Zoltan put a hand on Julian’s lower back. “I’m sorry.” 

Julian shook his head, swallowing his guilt and looked to the party emerging from the woods. “Did you find the girl?” 

“No.” Karlerd shook his head sadly. 

Julian looked to the sky, not enjoying the dark-looking clouds slowly rolling in. They did not look pleasant and the noble girl wasn’t going to fare well in the oncoming storm. 

He wheezed slightly, putting a hand to his chest and scrunched up his nose. 

The things he does for the Path. 

“Well,” Julian sighed, rolling back his shoulder. “I’m going to go find her then.” 

“You think that’s a good idea lad? You look like the walking dead.” Zhadhar arched an eyebrow at Julian. “We can continue looking for her.” 

Julian shook his head. “Storms coming in. I have a better chance at finding her sooner. She’s not fit to survive in a storm. The people here need your help.” He gestured to the figures around the meadow. He could hear some faint heartbeats but it didn’t sound promising. 

Zoltan stared at Julian for a second, probably wondering if Julian was crazy or not. “Alright lad. Stay safe.” He clapped his hand against Julian’s arm and nodded. 

Julian shuffled over to where he thought the girl ran too. Well, at least she wasn’t trying to hide her tracks. It would make it easier for him to track her down. 

He followed the snapped branches through the dense vegetation, eyes sweeping the ground to see if Julian could spot one of her tracks. 

When they came out of the dense vegetation he lost the tracks for a second. 

His nose twitched when he picked up the faint scent of lilac. 

A scent that was not native to this forest. 

Julian started following her trail. 

The scent dissipated when he came across a small babbling brook. He frowned and paced alongside the bank of the brook. 

Julian bit the inside of his cheek, eyes flicking around. 

Picked his way across the brook slowly, Julian felt the water tug at his ankles, wanting to carry him away. 

He crouched in front of a patch of damp ferns, picking up a crushed one. It was snapped towards the top of the stock, an indication of a tall animal coming through here. Must be her.

Julian followed the trail of broken ferns deeper into the woods. 

Sharp pain in his chest made him stop and collapsed against a tree. He clutched his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, willing for the pain to go away. He _needed_ to help her. 

She was a little girl, lost in the forest, terrified beyond her wits. 

“How the fuck does one kid move so fucking fast?” Julian muttered, wheezing and forced himself up off of the tree. He continued to grumble as he shuffled forward. 

His ears twitched, trying to siphon out the other natural sounds of the forest. Ignore the crashing sound of bears lumbering along, the light rustle of deer, the pitter-patting of small animals against the hard ground. 

He tried to listen for the unorganized and uneven running of the girl. 

Dimly, he heard her heartbeat. 

Julian was on the right path. 

He limped through the forest, not caring if he crashed through the forest, stepping on twigs, rustling the greenery. The plan was not to scare the hell out of the girl just by sneaking up on her...and he just didn’t have the energy to be sneaky. 

Julian perked up, he stopped hearing her run. She must have stopped. 

Crashed from exhaustion or some other reason, Julian didn’t know. 

He froze when he felt the icy pelts of rain. The storm came sooner than Julian guessed. _Shit_. He picked up the pace, eyes barely following the pressed footprints in the muddy ground. 

Of course being on the edges of fucking Velen, that this poor girl would run into a swamp. 

Julian picked up his pace, clutching his side and limping through the mud. The ground sucked his boots further into the mud, squelching as he lifted them. 

Julian fucking hated swamps. 

He hated Velen. 

It was sad and depressing; filled with broken peasants and disgusting swamps. It was sad and lifeless, dead trees cracked and bowed in the wind. 

How did people live here? 

Julian’s nose twitched when he picked up the scent of lilacs again and heard a heart-pounding. 

He paused, not sure how to approach the girl. She must be terrified and seeing the cat-like eyes of a witcher was not going to help, along with his slightly sharpened teeth. He wasn’t a sight that a scared kid wanted to see. 

Hell, the dwarves still flinched around Julian sometimes. 

Julian needed to talk to her, make sure that she was okay. 

He deliberately created as much noise as possible and lingered just on the outside of the small bundle of trees that she was hiding in. He crouched so that he was at eye level at her. The ice of the rain made him shiver. It dripped down his face slowly, freezing his skin. 

Julian so badly wanted to just fuck out of there and huddle around a fire. 

“Hey, I know you’re there. My name’s Julian. I don’t want to hurt you, just want to make sure you’re okay. That griffin even managed to take a bite out of me.” 

He saw a flash of pale blue, almost grey, eyes staring at him. He saw the blown-out pupils, filled with fear. 

“W-Witcher?” Her quiet voice stammered out. 

“Yeah. I’m a witcher. Don’t worry, I just want to help.” 

Julian was half expecting the girl to flinch away in fear. He wasn’t certainly expecting for her to lunge out of the bunch of trees and tackle him into a tight hug. 

Oh, that fucking hurt. Julian froze then hesitantly hugged her back. She was trembling like a loose leaf in the wind. He could feel the dampness radiating from her dress. She must have fallen into the swamp. 

Julian slowly pulled away from the hug, brushing back a clump of muddy hair. Her face trembling. “It’s too dark to head back now, not even factoring in the rain. But I passed by a small cave on the way, why don’t we pass the storm out there? Hun? Sounds good?” 

She nodded fervently, clutching his hand tightly. 

Julian slowly guided her to where he saw the mouth of the cave. The girl collapsed onto the cold stone ground and tucked herself into a small ball. 

Julian across to the damp scenery around them. The undergrowth had enough layers that Julian could probably find some wood that was dry enough for a fire. 

“Hey.” Julian crouched and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched slightly but looked at him. “I’m going to go collect some wood for a fire. I won’t be too far away. I’ll be able to come if you yell for me. Okay?” 

She nodded. Julian pulled out his ornate silver dagger, the one with the gold etchings and gave it to her. She took it, running a finger down the handle and then looked backed up at him. 

“For protection. Just in case.” Julian ruffled up her hair and gave her a smile. She reflected the smile back at him but weaker. Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. 

Julian picked his way out of the cave, hoping that he’d find enough dry wood as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to leave her for long. 

It was comforting to hear her steady heartbeat as he dug through the damp shrubs to collect the wood. 

Julian shivered slightly as the icy rain didn’t just hit him, it surrounded him, engulfed him like he was plunged into an icy lake. 

He staggered back to the cave, arms full of wood. He placed it gently down on the floor, pausing to ruffle up her hair. She gave him a squinty smile and Julian slipped back out for a second round. 

He did not want to go back out in the middle of the night for more wood.

Julian froze when he heard a low growl in the distance. He couldn’t place what was but it certainly wasn’t something that Julian wanted to meet face to face. 

He hurried back to the cave and was met with a small smile from the girl. She then flinched at the crack of lightning that lit up the grey, dusky evening. 

Julian groaned and collapsed next to her, setting up the stones in a circle. “Do you want to help me start the fire?” 

She quirked her head at him. 

Hm, must not be a talker. That’s fine. Julian’s had plenty of practice dealing with non-talkers. He rummaged through the pile of slightly damp wood and pulled out one of the bigger pieces of kindling. “See how the bark of the wood is damp?” He passed the branch over to her. 

She examined the branch with a slightly wrinkled nose and then slowly nodded. 

“Well, damp wood like this, makes the fire really smokey with little flame. Now that’s the opposite of what we want. Since the rain just started, the wood under the bark is still relatively dry. So if we pull off the bark then we’ll have plenty of good wood.” 

She brightened up, nodding, and scooted over to the pile of wood. 

Her small finger deftly plucked at the wood that reminded Julian of ladies sitting around their parlour as Jaskier wandered between them, crooning softly to them. 

Ah, those were the days. 

Soft afternoons, where the sun lazily filtered through the windows, highlighting the bright colours of the lady’s expensive and highly embroidered dresses. 

There were days where Julian just liked looking at the embroidery, the incredible details. He didn’t even want to see their bodies sometimes, just the art. 

“Do you want a song?” Julian asked. 

She nodded fervently. 

He smiled softly. “Any requests?” 

She shook her head. 

“Hmm. Okay.” Julian decided to go with one that was popular within the courts. She was bound to know it; a slice of normalcy in her chaotic day. It was a ballad about two star-crossed lovers desperately trying to find each other after being separated by Destiny. 

A load of horseshit if one asked Julian. 

But she seemed to like it, bobbing her head to the tune as she deftly peeled back the bark. 

Towards the end of the song, Julian decided that they had enough to start the fire. The poor girl looked like she was about to ice over. As she continued to peel off the bark, Julian stacked the branches into a little box, with some of the dry birch bark in the middle of the box. 

She looked up interest as Julian started to draw the sign for iigni. Her eyes widened with delight when the little pile of twigs burst into bright light. “Pretty cool hun?” She ecstatically nodded and went back to her task. 

***

It was late, darkness coated the land and Julian ached badly. He so badly wanted to go to bed, his bones ached with exhaustion, he could feel his ribs trying to force their ways back together, his bruises throbbed with each heartbeat. 

He didn’t feel comfortable going to bed. He knew that the forests of Temeria were full of creatures of nightmare, those who’d be attracted to the bare flame flickering at the mouth of the cave. It had been a tough decision to keep it going. Keeping it going would give her warmth but dousing it would ensure safety. 

He didn’t trust himself to meditate. Night was the time where magical predators loved to hunt. So Julian sat, crossed-legged with his naked silver blade as his little companion slept uneasily slightly behind him. If Julian looked towards her out of the corner of his eye, he could barely see her small form.

Julian would sleep when they return with the party. He was sure that the dwarves wouldn’t mind stalling the trip for a day. Really, they’d probably have to stay until they could make sure the survivors were safe. 

The girl whimpered softly in her sleep and, alarmed, Julian looked over to her. In the dim light, Julian could see her shivering. Guess the fire wasn’t strong enough to keep her warm. 

Hm. Julian fumbled with the clasps of his gamebon. It wasn’t the warmest thing, a little faded from use but it’ll give her some more warmth. 

Julian watched as her sleeping form clutched onto the loose gamebon like an infant grasping its blanket. it was cute but it worried Julian slightly.

She didn’t seem like an early teenager, which he thought she was. Julian was bad with ages. They all blended together. She acted like a scared five-year-old, reverting to selective muteness. 

What happened to this poor girl in her short time on earth? 

Without thinking, Julian reached out and brushed some of her hair back, out of her face. She sighed, her sleeping face visibly relaxing. 

Why did she accept the help of a witcher so openly? 

Poor thing. Julian shook his head and turned back to his watch. Nothing was going to hurt her while he was around. 

***

There were a lot of things that Yennefer was planning to do while visiting Triss. They’ve always had a bit of a rocky relationship, having some hot and cold periods in their friendship, but Yennefer has always appreciated being able to turn to her friend. Currently, it was supposed to be getting drunk and ripping Geralt to pieces. 

She was still fucking angry that he pulled that shit. No matter the excuses he gave her. She felt violated and angry. 

But as soon as she and Triss settled down to down an amazing vintage elven wine, one of the royal guards came bursting into Triss’s chambers, blabbering on about how the princess and her royal guard were missing. 

Poor Adda. Yennefer never met her but her heart ached for the poor girl. Triss had told her about what happened, Adda being cursed to be a striga for most of her young life. Now she was missing. 

Immediately, Triss jumped up and started trying to brainstorm ways to find Princess Adda. So that is how Yennefer ended up standing in a field in the middle of Temeria, soaking wet instead of a warm comfortable room with a large glass of wine. 

Triss and Yennefer stepped out of the portal to a scene of carnage. Bloodstained grass bled red under the downpour. Yennefer could see the bodies of the knights meant to accompany princess Adda on stretchers, looking pale and lifeless. 

What Yennefer wasn’t expecting was the small party of dwarves flittering around the bodies, trying to make them as comfortable as possible as the knights clung onto life. Yennefer spotted one of the younger dwarves up in the trees, trying to set up a rough canvas tent, to keep the injured dry as some of the older dwarves tended to them.

The source of the seemingly massacre was the large, prone body of a griffin, pushed to the side of the clearing. 

The party must have angered the griffin by wandering into his territory. 

Yennefer didn’t see Adda 

Triss saw the party and immediately her hands sparked into flames, startling the dwarves closest to her. Yennefer could see the anger in her eyes. 

Triss wasn’t a fighter, not like Yennefer was. She was a healer, she wanted to help people; make their lives easier. That didn’t mean she couldn’t whip someone’s ass if she needed to. 

“Where is she?” Triss growled. 

“Uh who?” One of the dwarves drawled out, looking confused and terrified. 

“Pr—-”

“Adda. Young, blonde hair, ring any bells?” Yennefer cut off Tiss. Yennefer thought it was best that they kept Adda’s real identity under wraps for the time being. 

The dwarf that they were talking to shook his head. His rusty red mohawk shook slightly. “Sorry lass. No one’s here matching that description. But, uh, the witcher said there was a girl, she ran off when he told her.” 

“Witcher?” Yennefer demanded. 

Please don’t let it be Geralt. Yennefer didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with him right now. 

“Yeh!” The young dwarf in the tree jumped down. He jutted his chin towards the prone figure of the griffin at the edge of the clearing. “Killed the griffin and went chasing after her. Not back yet.” He sounded worried. 

“Eugh. Don’t be worried lad. He’s a witcher. Knows more about surviving the wilderness than you know about dwarven spirit.” He gwauffed in laughter. 

Triss looked towards the dark woods with concern. Adda was a young princess. She didn’t know how to survive in the woods in this weather, with who knows what lurking in there. She looked like she wanted to book it into the forest and look for Adda. 

But there was a witcher in there with Adda. 

“Triss, there are people here who need your help. Adda is smart and there’s a witcher looking for her. She’s as safe as the situation allows.” Yennefer gestured to the prone figures. 

Triss’s fire flickered out of existence and she worriedly looked back and forth from the forest to the cluster of men. She sighed. “You’re right.” She sighed. “We’ll go looking for her once the storm stops.” 

Oh, thank goodness. Yennefer didn’t want to go tramping through that swamp of the forest. 

Yennefer tossed back her curls and sniffled. “I’ll start casting some spells to see if I can locate her. I’m not promising anything but I’ll try.” 

Triss visibly relaxed and nodded. “Thanks, Yen.” She headed to the tent. 

Yennefer cast a small spell to stop the rain from hitting her and walked to the edges of the forest. The dwarf that they were talking to trotted after Yennefer. 

“So who’s this lass who warrants two sorceress portaling in and looking for her?” He asked. 

Yennefer gave him a shrewd look and turned back to her mid-casting spell. She waited to answer him until the locating spell was fully cast. She wasn’t the greatest with locating spells, they were always a little weak. 

“I don’t think that I should be divulging secrets to someone that I don’t even know his name.” 

“Zoltan Chivay. Enchanted to meet you.” He held out a hand. 

Yennefer sniffled and daintily took his hand. Well, at least he knew how to treat a lady. That gave him the edge over most human men that she’s met. “Yennefer of Vengerberg. Tell me about the witcher that ran after her.” 

Please don’t let it be Geralt. 

“Name’s Julian.” Zoltan scratched his cheek. “He’s a cat school witcher if you care ‘bout that. Good lad, exceedingly patient with Resca and his questions ‘bout witchers. Got crushed by the griffin, still went after her. Don’t know what’s going in there but I know he’s looking out for her.” 

Wonderful. It wasn’t Geralt. 

Yennefer wasn’t sure if she knew this ‘Julian’ but it was a step up from dealing with Geralt. The name Julian did sound familiar to her but she wasn’t sure why. 

“Well, it’s better no-one, I suppose.” Yennefer sighed and started summoning her chaos again to try the locating spell. It needed to be larger thus more chaos was needed. 

***

Yennefer had given up on trying to locate princess Adda, there was too much interference coming from the woods. This was on the edges of Velen, there was always a base level of interference from other magic in the area. If this wasn’t a swamp, Yennefer would be interested in tracking it down, trying to figure out what it was. 

So, when Yennefer gave up, she went to go help Triss with healing. Most of the dwarves headed back to their campsite, all looking exhausted from helping out. Yennefer wouldn’t dare to admit it, but she liked their spirit and they were willingness to help complete strangers, using their own supplies. 

Triss certainly admired them. Yennefer would bet a bottle of wine that after everything calmed down, she’d try to get them positions with Foltest or repay them in any way possible. Triss had always been a caring one. 

She had a bit of bleeding heart. 

How she managed to keep her soft heart in such a horrible position like a court mage, being exposed to the rancid parts of the kingdom, Yennefer didn’t know. 

She was a strong sorceress. 

When Yennefer abandoned her previous task, she shooed Triss off to a small sleeping cot. Yennefer smiled at Triss’s sleeping form and pulled her blanket over her shoulder and went back to supervising Triss’s patients. 

There wasn’t anything Yennefer could do. All that was left was to monitor them. 

Yennefer noticed that one of the dwarves, Zoltan, hadn’t left with the rest of his party. He stood there, eyes trained on the forest, waiting for the witcher to return. 

“Anything?” Yennefer approached Zoltan. She wasn’t sure how good dwarven eyesight was. 

“Nah.” Zoltan shook his head. He sighed and tapped his finger against his axe which he clutched tightly. “Shouldn’t be surprised. They probably holed up for the night. Just worried for him. Took nothing with him.” 

It was early in the morning, still rather dusky but the storm had passed. 

“If it helps, I have found that witchers are awfully resilient. Annoyingly so.” Yennefer crossed her arms and frowned into the distance. 

Zoltan gwaffed in amusement. “Suppose you’re referring to the white wolf?

Fucking Geralt; follows her everywhere. “Any why do you suppose that?” 

He sniffled, scratched his nose. “Uh, well. I’ve heard the songs. Something about the white wolf and sorceress with violet eyes. Given the context, well, ain’t hard to assume.”

“Jaskier,” Yennefer growled. She was going to castrate him the next time she saw him. 

Zoltan chuckled softly. His spine straightened when he saw something in the darkness of the forest. “Aye, I think I see ‘em.” 

“Hm? Not an animal?” 

“Nah. Too tall. Two heads.” 

Yennefer sighed and straightened up. “I’ll go get Triss.” She picked her away across the damp clearing to the medical tent. “Triss.” She gently shook Triss awake. 

“Hm?” 

“We think Adda and the witcher are back.” 

Triss was up in an instant, charging out of the tent. With Adda’s mother dead, Triss had taken on more of a motherly role with her. 

Yennefer followed Triss, a little more slowly than her. 

Emerging from the forest were the witcher and Adda. He was stooped low, favouring one side over the other, limping slightly, with Adda on his back. 

She looked terrible. Exhausted, frightened, and completely muddy from running through the swamp. She sported an oversized gambeson which was probably the witcher’s. 

“Adda!” Triss cried, running towards her and the witcher. 

“Triss!” Adda stuttered, a side effect of being a striga for most of her life was her inability to speak. She’s been improving marvellously according to Triss. She tried to wiggle out of the witcher’s grasp, he got the cue and gently put her down. She ran to Triss and tackled her into the hug. 

The witcher let out a sigh and collapsed onto the ground, arms strewn across the ground. “Alright lad?” Zoltan asked. 

“Peachy!” The witcher wheezed, jutting out his thumbs up. Zoltan chuckled and shook his head at the witcher.

Yennefer tilted her head in confusion. Those jangly gestures seemed familiar somehow. 

“Triss look!” Adda pulled out a delicate-looking silver dagger. She held the dagger properly, not waving it all around as if the witcher had shown her. 

“Pretty.” Triss crouched down and examined the knife. “Where’d you get it?” 

Adda pointed to the witcher, still sprawled out on the ground. He raised a finger in protest. “In my defence, I gave her the dagger to protect herself, just in case while I was out getting firewood. Don’t give me a motherly disapproving look.” 

Triss blinked, the look of contempt that was sprawling out vanished. She shrugged in defeat. “I guess that I can give you a pass for once.” Yennefer could see the twinkle of amusement in Triss’s eyes. 

“Whoo.” The witcher wheezed. “Good night.” 

Triss rolled her eyes and gently pushed past Adda. “Zoltan told me about your ribs. Here let me help.” Her hands softly glowed a pale blue. The witcher, Julian, tensed up and a second later he relaxed. 

“Oh, that felt amazing. Like a Skellige sauna. Thank you.” He gave her a smile. 

Triss smiled brightly back, Yennefer could see a faint dusting of blush. “I should be thanking you. For saving Adda and looking out for her.” 

“The pleasure is all mine. She was delightful company.” Julian groaned and sat up. 

Yennefer saw his face really for the first time. It felt like a sucker punch, how her breath left her. She’d gotten used to seeing Geralt’s amber eyes with the cat pupils, but Julian’s eyes were really a marking of the witcher’s mutations. One brilliantly amber, the other a cold steel. A lightning bolt of a scar spread across his face. Geralt had escaped the curse of facial injuries, keeping himself rather human-like despite the eyes. Julian really showed the reality of what it was like to be a witcher. 

Adda giggled and gave him a shy smile. He smiled back as he stood up, uncurling himself that was truly reminiscent of how a cat did it. Triss turned back to Adda and started fussing over to her. “Come, let’s get you back to your father. He’s worried sick.” 

Adda nodded and turned to Julian. She gave him a little hug. He tightly hugged her back, then messed up her hair. “Stay safe squirt.” Adda nodded brightly at him. She pulled off his worn gamebon and passed it back. Julian took it back and slung it over his shoulder. Adda tried to give him back the silver knife which really reminded Yennefer of something that Jaskier would like. 

Briefly, Yennefer wondered what the bard was doing now. He seemed hesitant about going back to the Path but also moody about continuing on with his chosen career of barding. 

Julian shook his head and pushed the dagger back to Adda. “A dagger like that needs an owner that’s just as pretty as it. Keep it and may it protect you in the future.” 

Adda brightened up like a mini sun and tackled him into another hug before taking Triss’s hand as a portal whooshed open. 

There was a look of melancholy in his eyes as he watched Adda go through the portal. Zoltan clapped Julian on the shoulder. “I’ll go tell the lads you’re safe. Resca will be overjoyed.” 

“Thanks, you've been taking care of my baby?” Julian batted his eyelashes at Zoltan. 

“Yes. Your horse is fine. Resca has been feeding her treats as he didn’t couldn’t do anything else to help.” Julian gave Zoltan a dopey smile. 

Zoltan rolled his eyes at Julian and headed out. 

Yennefer didn’t know if she liked Julian. He was far too cheerful for her liking. Weren’t witchers supposed to be serious?

“Oh! Yen! I didn’t notice you were here!”

What? 

Yennefer squinted at Julian. She certainly would have remembered his face. “Excuse me?” She didn’t like how he spoke so informally with her. Her fingers twitched, ready to teach him a lesson if needed. 

Julian’s eyes widened, looking like he just ran into a tree. His face froze like that while he seemed to be thinking something. He, then, let out a painful sounding wheeze, doubling over as he cackled in laughter, slapping his knee as he forced in breaths. “Sweet Melitele! Oh, ha. You don’t recognize me. Oh, that’s hilarious. Ha!” He devolved into more laughter. 

“I suggest you explain yourself before I turn you into an eel.” Yennefer snarled, she could feel the chaos wrapping itself up her arm. 

“Okay. Okay. Okay.” Julian was still laughing as he held his hands up in surrender. He picked himself up and his dual eyes unnerved Yennefer. “Maybe this’ll jog your memory.” 

What? 

Julian cleared his throat and flashed her a smile. “ _When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia along came this song from when the White Wolf fought a silver-tongued devil his army of elves at his hooves did they revel—-_ ”

Fuck. Not this fucking song. 

“Jask—”

“Julian.” He cut her off, eyes flickering to where the dwarves had gone. He gave her a lopsided smile and did a dramatic little bow. “Pleasure to introduce you to Julian of Redania, also known as the Mad Cat of Kerack, Breaker of Wights, etc etc etc.” 

“Hrmph.” Yennefer crossed her arms and raised a pointed eyebrow at him. “So I see you went back onto the Path.” 

Jaskier’s scared face flushed and he scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, wasn’t really a voluntary choice.” 

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I took off the glamour to fight some bandits. And I might have lost it,” he mumbled the last part. 

Yennefer scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Typical.” 

Jaskier laughed, his eyes twinkled softly in amusement. “Good to see you, Yen.” 

“You too. Though, I wasn’t expecting the beard.” She truly wasn’t. Jaskier the poet was clean-shaven and baby-faced. The burly witcher in front of her had long dark hair, darker than Jaskier’s and a roughly kept beard. 

Jaskier arched an eyebrow at her like he didn’t quite believe that. “You can talk about my eyes. I’m not traumatized by them.” 

Yennefer pressed her lips into a tight line. “I wasn’t bothered by them. I’m no stranger to strange eyes.” 

“Yes but don’t sorceresses at Aretuza get to chose their appearances at the end of their training?” 

Fair. Jaskier didn’t get to choose his eyes, and Yennefer knew that witchers were treated differently due to their eyes. Jaskier probably didn’t get any better treatment with his two eyes. 

“How do you know this?” Yennefer haughtily asked. 

Jaskier’s face flushed once again. “Had a wonderful night with a sorceress over a bottle of Kovirian wine, spending endless hours talking about our professions. And then had a delightful couple of hours of carnal activities.” He sighed dreamily. 

That sounded like Julian. 

“I thought you told _our mutual friend_ to not get tangled up with sorceresses.” 

“And I stand by that! Tissaia and I have an agreement. Sex and no emotions. I will not change my stance on that! No drama because of the sorceress's politics. Geralt certainly had the desire to be with you and deal with everything head-on, politics and all. There is a difference dear Yennefer.” 

“Tissaia?” Yennefer demanded. She wasn’t even going to touch on the other parts. He certainly wasn’t wrong and she was not going to give him that. He’d lord over it and bring it up in any conversation. 

“What about Tissaia?” Triss reappeared next to Yennefer, Yennefer didn’t even hear the portal open again. 

“Oh, dear Yennefer is having palpitations because I have an on and off again arrangement with dear Tissaia. Yen, how do you think I got my glamour?”

“You paid for it?” 

“I mean yes but she really sweetened the deal after I showed off my services.” Julian wiggled his eyebrows at Yennefer. Gross. She still wanted to turn him into an eel. 

Triss wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Not something I needed to know. Here, this is from Foltest.” She pressed a sack of coins into his hand. 

“Foltest?” His brow furled. 

“Adda’s father. He was ecstatic to see his baby again. I had to talk him down from offering you a position as Adda’s bodyguard and full knighthood. He has not learnt from the last meeting with a witcher.”

Jaskier stared at the sack of coins, his mind racing to figure out the equation. His face brightened up with recognition. “Oh. Well, that does explain some things. Poor thing, cursed from birth, having to deal with Geralt, then this.” Yennefer didn’t bother hiding a snort of amusement. Triss rolled her eyes at Jaskier. 

“Julian!” The younger dwarf that Yennefer had noted ran into the clearing. “You’re okay!”

“Right as rain buddy.” Jaskier gave him a thumbs up. 

“Great! Do you need anything?” 

“Nah. Just finishing things up here. Be with you guys in a second.” 

The dwarf nodded and trotted back to the campsite. 

“Can we get back to the fact that you fucked Tissaia?” Yennefer demanded. 

“Yen, I don’t understand why you’re so caught up on that? Tissaia is a grown adult.” 

Yennefer pinched the bridge of her nose. She separated her life in two. Her younger years which included Aratuza and by extension Tissaia, and her life now, her search for her purpose in life. Jaskier firmly sat in the former part. 

“Yeah, I don’t understand either.” Triss battered her eyelashes at Yennefer. 

“See, Yennefer heavily associates me as my former life. A human, very mortal, and very young, bard which she absolutely loathed. It seems she has a hard time wrapping her mind around the fact that I’m actually very old.” 

“You were a bard?” Triss asked. 

“I got bored with the Path and wanted to seek out a different path for a time being. Tissaia, lovely Tissaia, was most gracious and procured me a glamour to do such a thing.” 

“Aw, that feels like a potential ballad.” Triss always had a soft heart, looking for beauty in chaos. Yennefer believed that’s how Triss managed to become so powerful. She pulled the greatness from the darkness. 

Though, Yennefer didn’t care for some of the company that Triss kept. Some of the other sorceresses had some more extreme ideologies. Yennefer didn’t know if Triss harboured those feelings or she was just too polite to distance herself from them. 

“I like singing but singing about myself seems a little too egotistical even for my taste.” 

“Like that’s ever stopped you,” Yennefer muttered. Jaskier grinned, unfazed by her comments. Yennefer rolled her eyes at his dopey smile.

“Well, it’s too late now. I’m back on the Path, my days of singing behind me.” He seemed a little melancholic about the fact. Yennefer didn’t care about his feelings but she hated the fact individuals could follow their desires. One must be able to choose their own path. 

She crossed her arms, glaring at the ground. “I’m sure that I could procure another glamour for you if you wanted.” 

“Aw Yen,” Jaskier cooed. 

“I rescind my offer.” 

Triss laughed, a cute little tinkling laugh. 

“Thank you Yen, it does mean a lot but it’s not needed. My time on the road as a bard was a nice breather, but I realized today that my role is here as a witcher. Helping Adda reminds me that I like helping people. I’ll suffer through whatever humans throw at me.” 

That sounded too much like Geralt for Yennefer’s taste. “Are all witchers that noble?” She scoffed in annoyance. 

Jaskier bared his teeth in amusement. “Yennefer, I doubt that the wolves would like to be compared to the cats. We’re called mad for a reason. Not to mention the longstanding loathing the wolves had for actions of a few of my previous kin.” 

Triss sniffled in annoyance. “Yes, I am well aware of the mage's desire to experiment with witcher’s mutations.” 

“Hm.” Jaskier agreed. “Pretty sure that I’ve got some Leshen in me. We never found out why my eyes didn’t fully change and I was one of the lucky ones.” There was a haunting look in his eyes. Yennefer heard whispers about the mage’s experiments on the cats. How they’d have to be put down from how insane they became. He sniffled and waved his hand as if dismissing the thought. “Whatever, the past is in the past. I can not change it. All I can do is change my future. Now, with those depressing thoughts out and gone, would you lovely ladies would like to join us for some dwarven spirit? Mienras makes a lovely bottle.” 

“Jaskier, it’s barely midday.” 

Triss’s eyes lit up in recognition. 

Shit.

Jaskier wasn’t happy with her judging by the look he was giving her. It vanished after a second and his sunny disposition returned. “Julian, and Yen, when has that ever stopped me? Besides, the dwarves will heartily join us if so desired.” Jaskier corrected her with a pointed look and then a soft shrug. 

Yennefer rolled her eyes. He certainly has not changed despite his outward appearance changing. 

“Well, I shouldn’t drink, as I need to be sober just in case something happens, but I never turn down good company. What do you think Yen?” Both Triss and Jaskier looked over to Yennefer. 

“When have I ever said no to free alcohol? It better be good Jas--Julian.” 

“Oh don’t worry. Best dwarven spirit I have ever had and I’ve had plenty throughout the years.” 

“How old are you? Yennefer asked as they started heading towards the campsite. 

Jaskier blinked and was silent for a second. His eyes darkened, the years of being on the Path weighing on him. “I’m not sure if I'm being honest. Time blends together after a while. I think close to a hundred years? Certainly old enough to create a reputation.” He rolled his eyes in faint annoyance. 

“Hmh.” She’s certainly heard plenty of different witcher reputations over the years. She wondered how many of them were Jaskier’s. 

“Whatever. Fun fact, I am technically a viscount. Or was. Or still? I’m not sure what my legitimacy is. I was the older sibling. Technically it is my birthright. That’d be a thing to see. A witcher viscount. Ha! Though, I’m not sure Lettenhove is still a thing. One of my cousins did get involved with a conspiracy to kill one of the kings of Kerack.” 

Triss looked very entertained. 

“Ah, what is the witcher prattling on about now,” Zoltan teased as the trio rounded out into the campsite. 

Yennefer was a little fond of dwarfs. They were hearty folk and those who she travelled on the mountains were entertaining and had a good head on their shoulders. This group seemed to have a good heart. 

“Oh, you know, just wondering if I’m still a part of my family’s line of succession for the title of viscount.” Julian collapsed next to his mare who gently nipped at his shaggy head. He fondly patted her snout. 

“Really?” Resca asked. “Yup.”

Yennefer hid a smile as she sat down on a log that one of the elder dwarves, Innind, vacated for her. Such a gentleman. Triss joined Jaskier on the ground, sandwiched between Yennefer and Jaskier. 

“If yer a son of a viscount, then why’d you become a witcher.” One of them asked. 

“Derclar!” Zoltan scolded. 

Jaskier chuckled and accepted a bottle from one of them. “Thanks, Kromma.” The dwarf nodded and passed out some to Triss, who politely declined it, and Yennefer. The dwarves were certainly down to drink at any time. “It’s fine Zoltan. The past is the past.” 

Jaskier didn’t seem to really believe that statement despite echoing it several times. 

“Anywho, it was because my father was a cheap bastard and didn’t want to pay the witcher and the stories about witchers taking young children are very true.” Jaskier down a worrisome amount of his drink. 

Yennefer scoffed in agreement. She certainly felt that in her bones. Selling her for a couple of coins to Tissaia. Jaskier rose his bottle in solidarity. 

At least she had Jaskier. The fucker was harder to get rid of than a barnacle on a boat. 


End file.
